The Consequences of Falling
by chrissie0707
Summary: The team realizes that Nick isn't doing as well as he's led them to believe. Story evolved from two post Gum Drops oneshots. COMPLETED.
1. Chapter 1

_Author Note: _Edited and reposted 9/18/12. 800 or so words added in total with a few...okay, many...grammatical and spelling errors corrected. No one's perfect. Enjoy.

* * *

_Chapter One_

Warrick Brown waited in the fluorescently lit corridor of the Las Vegas Crime Lab, staring through everyone who walked past as though they weren't there, eyes locked on the doorway before him. He was on a mission, and would not be distracted.

Fellow CSIs Sara Sidle and Greg Sanders had returned to the lab not too long ago, and Sara had asked to talk to him in private for a minute, pulling him aside.

"What's up, girl?" Warrick had asked as they entered the break room.

Sara shut the door softly behind them, like she didn't want to draw attention to this meeting. She'd crossed her arms, her face a curious mix of concern and solemnity. "Have you noticed Nick acting strange lately?"

Warrick walked the length of the room and thought, coming to a rest with a hip propped against the long counter. He frowned; there was no way this conversation was going anywhere he wanted to go. "You mean besides on this case?"

Sara nodded, eyes wide.

"I don't think so. He's seemed fine to me."

"Well, not to me." She relayed to him, with no lack of detail, the eventful interview at the sheriff's station. How Nick had snapped, burst into the room, and slammed Peter Locke into the wall, demanding the final resting place of little Cassie McBride.

Warrick's jaw dropped. "That's not like Nick." His normally reserved friend would never behave that way, never become aggressive with a suspect, especially a _kid_, and especially in an interrogation. An act like Sara was describing could very well be a detriment the department's ability to put the right perp behind bars.

Sara was clearly worried, for any number of reasons. "No, it's not." She sank into a chair. "I tried to talk to him about it and he kind of blew me off."

She looked up at him with hopeful eyes. "I was thinking maybe you could give it a try."

Warrick sat down across from Sara with a sigh, leaning in conspiratorially. "I can try. He hasn't exactly been Joe-here's-what-I'm-thinkin' lately."

"Doesn't that worry you?"

Warrick felt a sudden pang of guilt. He and Nick were close, or at least used to be, and it was very nearly a smack in the face for Sara to notice these kinds of things in his friend's behavior when he didn't. "Yeah, I guess it does," he said honestly. "I guess I just assumed he was doing better."

"We all did." Sara stared at her hands. "Why wouldn't we? He's certainly been acting like everything is normal."

"Maybe we just wanted to believe that it was." Warrick gave himself a mental slap, but it wasn't anything close to what he deserved. They should have been taking better care of their friend. He knew, however, why they hadn't. Because they'd been afraid that if they coddled him too much, he would just shut down.

They didn't talk about what happened, not when Nick was around. They kept the mood as light as was possible in a job surrounded with death and destruction. They laughed and joked and did everything they could to make Nick feel comfortable, and it had seemed to be working. Nick smiled and laughed and joked back with them. Warrick had wanted to believe so hard that it wasn't just an act…that Nick really was doing better.

He was stupid. It hadn't even been that long since…there was no shelf-life on the kind of mental anguish he had to be going through. Of course Nick was still dealing with things. He was just too smart for them, wasn't allowing them to see it.

The break room door opened and Archie Johnson, the A/V tech, started to enter, whistling.

Sara looked up sharply and gave Warrick a meaningful look.

Warrick cleared his throat. "Hey, Arch. You think you could give us just a minute?"

Archie paused on his way to the mini-fridge. "Sure. Can I grab a soda?" He pulled out a can of Coke and gave them a wave, shutting the door behind him on his way out.

"I'll talk to him," Warrick said.

Sara chewed on her lip, not meeting his eyes. "Maybe we all should."

Warrick shook his head. "Nah, I think that might be too much. I'll do it."

Sara nodded, already appearing as though a weight had been taken from her. "Thanks. I'm really worried about him. I can't stand to think he's going through things that he won't talk to us about."

As if that were something only Nick was dealing with, but Warrick let it go. Sara had her secrets, same as anyone, and at the moment she had her issues under control. _One problem at a time, man._

So here he was, waiting for Nick. Warrick wasn't sure what he was going to say, or how he was going to say it. He hadn't been there to witness the crack in Nick's stoic exterior that Sara had, and didn't want to rely on information learned secondhand. That wasn't to say that he hadn't been noticing small behavior shifts, himself, not when he thought about it. He had to admit this latest bit of news was just giving validity to the feeling he'd been having lately that Nick needed someone to haul him bodily back before he went over the edge.

Warrick pushed himself off of the wall as Nick enter the building. His friend's steps were slow and heavy, and he was staring at his feet as if he had to look at them to get them to move. In his hand was a folded piece of construction paper, and he was gripping it so hard that even from where he stood Warrick could see the shadowy indentations in the paper.

Nick nearly walked clear past Warrick, not seeing him, but he reached out and grabbed the arm of Nick's hooded blue sweatshirt and the man jerked away, startled.

"Sorry, man. Didn't see you." Nick's eyes looked a little red, like he had been crying.

Warrick took in his haggard appearance like a punch to the gut. "Can we talk for a second?"

A small smile crept over Nick's features. "We're talkin' now."

Warrick shook his head, not allowing his buddy to wave the seriousness of this situation away. "I'm for real. In private."

Nick's smile was replaced with a cautious, confused frown, and he slowly started to nod. "Yeah, sure."

Warrick led Nick back to the break room. Greg was now sitting there, feet up on the table, flipping through a magazine.

"Hey, Greggo," Warrick said warmly. He jerked a thumb toward the door. "Scram."

Greg looked at him over the top of his magazine. "It's my break room, too. Hey, Nick."

Warrick grabbed the magazine out his hands, rolled it up and smacked him on the head with it. "Come on, man."

Greg stood and took his magazine back. "All right, I'm going. Sheesh."

He left and Warrick moved to shut the door.

Nick looked at him quizzically. "What was that about it?" Then a look of realization settled over his features and he sighed. "Do not even tell me that you dragged me in here to give me a lecture, man. I don't need it." Nick fixed him with a glare.

Warrick gave it right back. "You do need it, bro."

Nick put his hands on his hips, the laugh lines around his eyes making him seem older now, weathered. "Sara talked to you, didn't she? That was nothin'. I just lost it for a minute."

"You never lose it, Nick," Warrick said.

Nick rolled his eyes. "Don't you start with that, too. This had nothing to do with that. It was about Cassie."

"Why?"

"Because it's my job, Warrick," Nick said angrily. "I'm sorry that I wasn't as quick to give up on her like the rest of you."

"We were following the evidence."

"That's great. I'm sure Grissom will be very proud of you." There was venom in his words, and Nick turned to leave.

"When are you gonna stop shutting us out and admit that you need help?"

Nick whirled to face him, features contorted with a dark look that came from somewhere deeper than the McBride case. "I do not need help. I show up to work, and I do my job."

Warrick crossed his arms. "How are you sleeping?"

Nick raised his eyebrows and shook his head. "What does that have to do with anything? It's not affecting my work."

"I think it is. Since when do you threaten a suspect?"

Nick took a step forward, drawing himself up. Warrick cocked his head and clicked his tongue. His threatening stance was a prime example of the changes in behavior they'd been seeing in Nick lately, carelessly disregarding them, afraid to being anything up and risk bringing him down like a precariously constructed house of cards.

Their voices were rising, and people out in the hall were slowing as they passed, or stopping altogether, listening to the muffled shouts coming from the room.

"I told you – that was not about what happened!"

"'About what happened'? Say the words, man. You can't even talk about it!" This was not how Warrick had intended for this talk to go, but maybe, _hopefully,_ the message was getting across.

Nick clenched his teeth. "There's nothing to talk about, because I'm fine."

Warrick threw his hands up in frustration. "Fine. But how do you expect us to help you if you won't talk to us."

"I don't need your help with anything, because I'm fine." Nick turned and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him with enough force to rattle the window. The blinds swung in the wake of his departure, clicking against the glass.

Warrick stood in the middle of the room, mind racing, regretting every word he'd said. Kind of. It was all of things that he'd been wanting and waiting to tell Nick for months, keeping his mouth shut instead because he was wary of this exact reaction. He could only hope he hadn't driven Nick even further into himself. He'd give anything for things to get back to the way they were.

_Damn you, Gordon_, Warrick's mind cried out to the dead man who had ruined so much more than he could have hoped for.

* * *

Nick stormed through the lab, ignoring the looks he was getting from colleagues he passed on the way to the locker room the CSIs shared. Much to Nick's relief, it was empty. Over the past few months, rooms had a very annoying habit of being occupied every time he wanted to be alone. He lashed out a foot and kicked the closest locker. Satisfied with the dent he put there, he stood still a long moment, hands balled into fists at his sides, breathing hard.

Suddenly he felt an enormous weight bearing down on him, and he sank to the bench that ran between the rows of lockers, and put his head in his hands.

_What am I doing?_ Sara, Warrick…they were all just concerned about him. Instead of letting them, Nick was writing off their very well-meaning concern, and not letting them in. He'd hoped that if he just focused on the job, if he didn't talk about it, if he just took it a day at a time…things would be fine.

Things weren't fine. Hell, the sight of a single damned bug on his arm caused his heart rate jump, his skin to be covered in gooseflesh, his hands to shake uncontrollably.

And that bunker. That damned bunker. Nick didn't know how he'd managed to keep from running right the hell out of there.

Yes, he did. Keeping his composure in front of the others was more important to him than giving into the complaints and demands of his mind and body. He'd fought that urge to dart back to the truck and hide his discomfort, a fancy word for _fear_. He hadn't wanted to let the others see just how hard a time he was having. Apparently, he was doing a really crappy job, because they were still anxious, still walking on eggshells around him, no matter how hard he'd been working to give off an air of indifference during such situations.

He knew they were all waiting for him to be the same old Nick, and he was trying really hard to be that for them. It was a vain attempt, because he _wasn't_ the same guy, and expending the amount of energy he was trying to put up that façade, he was losing sight of the man he now really was. No drastic changes, as far as he saw it, but he was under the impression, and had been told by no less than three different medical professionals, that it was normal after something as traumatic as what he'd been through. No one could come out of that box the same person as when they went in. That was the mantra that helped him sleep at night, on the nights he did actually sleep.

He didn't know what had gotten into him with this case. It was just the thought that the people around him were giving up on Cassie, who had been waiting, cold and helpless and alone, for days. For a rescue that, if Nick hadn't had his way, would not have happened.

What would have happened to Nick if they had given up so easily on rescuing him? He spent a lot of time and energy not asking himself that question. He didn't want to think about how close he had been to pulling that trigger. Inches. Seconds. The space of a blink of the eye. _He_ had been the one who had almost given up, not them.

Nick couldn't keep in the small sob that caught in his throat. He didn't hear the footsteps coming up slowly behind him, but felt the balance of the bench shift as someone sat down next to him, and he didn't have to look over to know it was Warrick.

Nick turned his face into the shoulder of his sweatshirt and roughly wiped his eyes. He couldn't think of anything to say. He wanted to apologize, his anger and frustration dissipated in kick to the locker, leaving only the guilt. He looked away, not making eye contact with his friend.

After several moments, Nick composed himself and was finally able to turn to Warrick. "I'm sorry, 'Rick," he managed before his voice caught in his throat and he was forced to look away again. He focused on the homemade card still clutched in his hand.

"It's all right. Take all the time you need, man," Warrick said, patting Nick on the leg. "We'll wait."

"I know." And he did.

* * *

To be continued...


	2. Chapter 2

_Chapter Two_

Everyone was staring at him, and Nick felt like a fish in a damned bowl. Pudgy faces and grimy hands pressed flush to the glass, pointing and poking, trying to get his attention, their voices coming through muddy and distorted. He had to get out. The pressure was suffocating him.

The news of Nick and Warrick's impromptu fight had trickled through all the regular office grapevines, and everyone was watching him, holding their breath and staking out front row seats for his next blow up. Waiting to see what he would do next.

_Going home and going to sleep_, Nick answered their unasked questions in his mind, _not all that dramatic._

But it was. Sleeping had become a sort of sport for Nick. He had to work himself up for it, and if he succeeded in a full few hours without nightmares, he considered it a victory of epic proportions. And the way his life had been going lately, he could use every small win he could get. The only problem was, this didn't happen very often.

What did happen was an hour or so of light sleep followed by another long two wasted tossing and turning and checking the black corners of the dark room for an unseen menace, ready to pounce while he was defenseless. On a good night this would be followed by another hour or two of fitful slumber. On a bad night, it was followed by a pot of strong coffee and infomercials.

The gun under his pillow had helped at first. He wasn't really expecting anyone to sneak into his house…but, hey, it wouldn't be the first time. He'd moved the gun into the bedroom years ago, after the sickening realization that a psychopath, and eventual killer, had spent weeks watching him through the night, from no more than fifteen feet away. The piece had been tucked into the top drawer of the bedside table, well within arm's reach. It was incredible how far away that gun had seemed the first night he'd spent home alone after the box.

The gun didn't help anymore, because his fear went beyond that. Whenever he was alone, he could feel it in the air, and the air felt bad. Thick and threatening. He'd thought he would be able to appreciate it more now, and stop to smell the roses, so to speak.

There were no roses. There was no smelling anything sweet. His body was always on alert, and every foul molecule in the air was an assault on his nose and lungs. Especially his lungs, which sometimes tightened without warning, and he had no idea what brought it on. Elevators were an understandable stimulus. Stairwells, sure. His car, even. But sitting in his living room, watching a ball game…he had no explanation for that.

In those moments, it was like his brain abandoned his body, left it to fend for itself.

This was what was happening as Nick shoved through the heavy glass doors and out of the crime lab. He ventured a few steps down the sidewalk and paused with his hands on the chipped, rusty handrail, and took a deep breath, for a single solitary moment not caring who saw. The oxygen was what mattered. His lungs fought it but he fought them right back. He balled his shaking hands into fists around the thin rail and flexed his fingers out.

_Get a grip,_ he ordered himself after a few solid breaths. Now he needed to pull it together, was afraid that someone would come upon him in this state, especially Warrick, whom he had just left with what he hoped was a sense that things were going to start getting better.

Not great, not even good, but better. But "better" was relative, and there wasn't much room for things to get worse.

Nick scanned the parking lot for his truck, which he couldn't recall where he'd parked. It didn't help that they all looked the same.

"Nick?"

It was all he could do not to jump, but he succeeded. He turned, stuffing his still slightly shaking hands into his jeans pockets. "Yeah?"

Sara looked concerned, although it was hard to distinguish, as her face seemed to carry that look perpetually now.

_Damn it._

"You okay?"

"Yup." Short, sweet, and to the point. That point on a map would, in all honesty, fall a little south of the border of truth, but was still in the vicinity. Close enough to claim residency.

Something flashed across Sara's features. Guilt, maybe. "Did, uh, did Warrick talk to you?"

It was in the form of a question, but she knew the answer, and Nick knew that she knew the answer. It was a lure, to hook him and drag him into the conversation. He was once again nothing more than a fish being gawked at through a thin but seemingly unbreakable barrier. And from the very people who were sworn to keep him out of these types of situations.

"Yeah, for a bit." Nick turned back to parking lot. _Where in the hell is my truck? _He was overcome with an intense desire to be far away. He unconsciously tugged at the neck of his sweatshirt, not liking the feel of the cotton lying against the base of his throat.

"I'm really sorry."

Nick turned back to her, surprised. "For what?"

She wouldn't really make eye contact. "I didn't want you guys to fight. I just wanted…I don't know. To help you, I guess." Her eyes rose to tentatively meet his.

_Thank God._ Nick had spotted his vehicle in the far corner of the lot as Sara was talking. He turned back in time to see her looking at him, and her expression told him that she wanted some kind of response, maybe for him to say something that would alleviate some of the guilt that she was apparently, however irrationally, feeling.

He gave her his best smile. "Thank you, Sara. Really. I promise that from now on, if I need to talk about something, I will." He was blowing her off, again, and he cringed when the look in her eyes told him that she knew it.

She shook her head, looking away with a knowing smile. "It's all a lie, isn't it?"

Nick couldn't think of anything to say, not wanting to risk letting slip another stupid, transparent excuse.

Sara continued. "Warrick just ran up to me, so psyched. 'Nick's gonna be better, I know he is,' he said. 'I can tell.'" Tears formed in her eyes. "But I know you, and I know that he does, too, but he just wants to believe _so bad_ that everything can be the same."

"It is, Sara. I'm still the same guy."

"Stop it!"

She was practically yelling, and Nick cast a worried look around them. He really didn't need more spectators to witness round two. After the day he'd had, all he wanted was to go home, and home was seeming farther and farther away.

"Sara, calm down," he said.

"Stop telling us what we want to hear," she said, much more quietly, but still with plenty of force behind it.

"I – I can't help it," Nick said lamely, suddenly fascinated by his shoes.

"Is that what you did just now?" Sara swung an arm to the wide entrance of the lab. "Told Warrick what you thought he wanted to hear, to pacify him? Answer me," she gritted at his silence.

Nick honestly didn't know to respond. Anger was an expected reaction from Warrick, because he was a very hot and cold kind of guy. But this, from Sara, of all people…he didn't know what to say.

"I…maybe…I mean – " he got out before she cut him off.

"He cares about you, Nick. We all do. This is killing him a little every day – "

"And what do you think it's doing to me, Sara?" He hadn't meant for that to come out, and he wished immediately that he could take it back. If he didn't know how to handle an angry Sara, he really didn't want to deal with the Sara that was now looking back at him.

Her mouth opened slightly and a tear made its way out of her eye and ran down her cheek. "Oh, God. Nick, I'm so sorry…I didn't mean…"

"It's okay," he said softly.

And here it was. The big money moment. He'd gone and done it again. It was all riding on what she did right here.

Nick waited, wanting more than anything for her to let this drop.

Sara's shoulders slumped just slightly as she gave in. She offered him a small smile, and something inside if Nick broke when he realized that she was taking his words at face value. It was what her whole rant had been about, and she was still doing it. She couldn't help but hear what she wanted to, any more than he could help saying it.

It was what he wanted, too, but something deep inside of Nick still longed for that constant watchfulness and concern, no matter the force with which he pushed it away. As long as someone was there watching and waiting for the next big bomb in his life, he would always be rescued.

At the same time he was afraid for the day that wariness receded altogether, and everyone around him accepted this new reality as the norm. He feared that he would disappear into himself completely, and his friends would be left to laugh and joke with a shell.

But for now, he still hoped.

Nick reached out and rubbed Sara's shoulder, fighting tears for what seemed like the tenth time that day. And what a long, hellish day it had been. "I'll see ya tomorrow, okay?"

She smiled and nodded, running a finger under her eye.

"Okay." Speaking barely above a whisper, Nick nodded and finally made his way to his truck.

He wanted to go home.

* * *

To be continued...


	3. Chapter 3

_Chapter Three_

It was one of the bad nights. Understandably so, considering the day he'd had.

Wrapping up the case in the early morning hours had resulted in the rest of the day off, as Nick didn't need to be back in to work until the next night. Most of that day had been spent in the lab finishing up paperwork and the unexpected confrontations with Warrick and Sara, and it was early evening by the time Nick finally pulled into his driveway.

He'd been faced with two options: stay up all night and sleep during the day, keeping to his regular sleeping pattern, or try to get some sleep now and spend the day bumming around before work.

Stupidly, after a quick dinner, he had gone with the latter. He'd had an exhausting day and wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed and not surface for as long as he could manage. Instead, after comforting himself he was alone in his home and the hidden gun was still safely stashed away, Nick spent a few hours lying awake, staring at the ceiling, replaying the conversations he'd had with Warrick and Sara, dissecting them, because that's what he did all day long and it was hard to turn off that kind of constant analytical thinking just because he wasn't on the clock.

He couldn't help being anxious about going into work the next night, nervous that his friends would go to Catherine or Grissom and spill the beans, like running and telling Mom and Dad. He didn't think he'd faired that badly with either Warrick or Sara, but was positive the same would not hold for a one-on-one with either of the senior CSIs. At least he had a little bit of prep time before a confrontation with Grissom would go down. The supervisor was still out of town, although Nick thought he was supposed to be back sometime the next day.

Nick invented possible scenarios for the way such a conversation might go…and none of them made him too eager to get to work. No matter the explanations, or excuses, that he came up with, even imaginary Grissom made him feel about two feet tall…even imaginary Catherine made him feel like a child.

Nick looked over at the alarm clock on the table next to his bed and flung his head back in frustration. It was three in the morning, and it looked like he was going to be staying up.

Nick gave himself another twenty minutes, and after he still couldn't fall asleep, he dragged himself out of bed and shuffled into the kitchen. He flipped on the light and pulled the coffee pouch out of its place in the cabinet, grumbling all the way. Once the coffee pot started its brewing process, he went into the living room and flung himself onto the couch, reaching for the remote off of the coffee table. He flipped through a few dozen channels without finding anything that held his attention for more than twenty seconds.

He was actually spared from his boredom by a muffled ring coming from his bedroom. He hurried into the room and dug his cell phone out of the pocket of the jeans he'd tossed on the floor and answered it on the fourth ring. _Catherine calling…_flashed on the screen.

"Hello."

_"Nicky. Were you sleeping?"_

"Uh, nah, you're fine. What's up?" Nick was momentarily worried that she'd called for The Talk, but shook it off. Catherine would never call him at this hour unless she needed him for a case.

He headed back into the kitchen, cradling the phone between his ear and shoulder so that he could pour himself a cup of joe. He could tell he was going to need it.

_"I'm really sorry, but I need you for a double homicide. Warrick's gonna meet you there."_

Nick wrote down the address she told him and assured her that it was fine, he didn't mind, much, and that he was on his way.

Yawning, he rubbed a hand over his chin. He should really shave before he left. He felt tired and scruffy. He glanced longingly at the pot of fresh coffee taunting him from the counter, knowing he would only have enough time for one cup.

* * *

Warrick pulled up to the curb in front of the convenience store and turned off the ignition. He stared through the wide windshield at the storefront, relishing the relative peace of the truck's interior before stepping out into the harsh reality his job provided. Having properly steeled himself, he hopped out of the massive Yukon and grabbed his kit out of the back seat.

Yellow crime scene tape set up a fence along the curb, and Warrick ducked under, raising a hand in greeting to Jim Brass, waiting for him in front of the open glass double doors.

"I thought Catherine said she was sending both you and Nicky out," Brass said, leading Warrick into the store.

Warrick shrugged. "I was still in the lab, Nick was off. Give him a few extra minutes."

Despite his words, Warrick couldn't help but feel concerned. Nick was very much the punctual type, and whether he was supposed to be off or not, Nick never kept them waiting. He shrugged it off again, knowing his friend had probably just been sleeping…that last case had really taken a lot out of him, more so than the rest of them.

Warrick turned his attention back to the homicide detective. "What's the story here?"

Brass raised his eyebrows and gestured to the counter. "Started as a robbery, then the suspect started shooting. Convenience store clerk is Kevin Davis, twenty-six. Shot once in the chest." He moved around the counter, where the young coroner David Phillips was crouching over the body of the young clerk.

"Hey, Dave." Warrick hefted his kit.

"Warrick." David held onto a clipboard in one hand and made a sweeping gesture with the other, encompassing the body. "Gunshot probably wouldn't have been fatal with proper and immediate treatment, but it looks like he bled out."

Warrick raised his eyebrows in agreement, reminded in the worst way to breathe through his mouth. There was a sizeable blood pool surrounding the body. "How long?"

David checked a note on his clipboard and then glanced at his watch. "Liver temp indicates time of death was around an hour and a half ago, so…what, two a.m.?"

Warrick compared the estimate with his own watch and nodded. He turned back to Brass. "I thought Catherine said this was a double."

"It is." The squat detective made his way through the store to an aisle along the far wall, glass coolers lining one side, pain killers and toiletries on the other.

Warrick saw the blood pool before he saw the body. His lips parted and he cocked his head when he did see it. "Man," he said under his breath.

Brass nodded solemnly. He opened a brown leather wallet he'd been carrying with him. "Jesse Warner, sixteen."

Warrick crouched and examined the bullet hole in the kid's gut. "Wrong place at the wrong time." He heard hurried footsteps come into the store and stood, nodding to Nick over the low shelving.

Nick gave a sheepish smile, but it didn't take away from the bags under his eyes. "Sorry I'm a little late," he drawled. His tee was uncharacteristically untucked from his jeans, which looked as though they could have walked in on their own.

"It's cool, man. I just got here, myself." Warrick eyed his friend's weary, messy appearance warily, but kept his comments to himself. He didn't want to instigate another fight. He nodded in the direction of the counter. "You want to take the bodies or the scene?"

Nick didn't respond, but lifted his kit as an answer.

Warrick chuckled. "Guess I'll do the bodies."

He knelt back down by the fallen boy. He thought he heard Nick yawn as he made his way through the store.

"What's up, Dave?"

The voices of the Assistant Coroner and his partner faded to background noise as he concentrated on the body sprawled before him.

* * *

"You're back," Sara said bluntly when she saw Nick and Warrick come down the hall, bearing gifts for the lab techs in the form of sealed evidence bags.

Nick smiled just slightly, more to keep her at ease than out of good nature. "No rest for the weary, right?"

He dropped off the tape lifts of fingerprints he'd pulled from the convenience store counter with Jacqui, and kept those of the shoe treads for himself. He found an empty room and tossed the images onto the table, bringing a hand to his mouth to stifle another yawn.

Sara had apparently followed him to the room. "I'm really sorry about today, Nick."

"Stop apologizin', Sara," he said, in as friendly as a tone as he could muster. "We're cool." Nick spread the images he'd collected out on the table, trying to determine which was the clearest. He wasn't necessarily ignoring her, just doing whatever he could to speed this process along. He smiled and snatched up one of the prints. He had a hopeful feeling this case was going to be an easy one to wrap up. They had fingerprints, shoe prints, and tapes from a security camera. Quick and dirty.

Sara stood just a second longer at the other side of the table. "Guess I better see what Hodges for me," she said, wrinkling her nose.

"You got a new case already, too?" It was a stupid question; of course she had a new case. That would be the reason Catherine called him in.

"Yeah," Sara said. "I don't' know when I'm going to get some sleep."

"If you want, I can keep an eye on your evidence for you, so you can go home for a few hours." Nick spoke before he thought about what he was saying. That politeness his mother had ingrained in him at a young age was really starting to come back and bite him in the ass. He winced and looked down at the table.

Sara smiled. "Really? That would be awesome."

She quickly gave him a rundown of the case and the evidence that was being processed. Nick nodded along, cursing at himself in his head. He'd been handed an easy case, the suspect had been sloppy, and they'd collected a ton of great evidence from the scene. The odds were that Catherine had probably put him on this particular case on purpose so that he didn't have to stay for very long and could catch a few hours of sleep before his official shift that night. And here he was, taking on more work, ensuring that sleep wasn't going to be a part of his near future.

Sure enough, Warrick enthusiastically tracked him down after only forty-five minutes to tell him that Archie had gotten a good still of the shooter and the prints that Nick had pulled had gotten a hit in AFIS; the guy had a record.

Nick smiled and said that was great, but on the inside, he felt like he was going to fall down if he didn't recharge his batteries, and soon. He checked his watch; Sara wouldn't be back in for at least three more hours, which would give him about five before he was planning on coming in for his shift.

Nick had been spending a lot of time at work over the past few months. Sara had always been the one to max out on overtime week after week, burying her problems in her work, and now it was him. He always came in early, and he was sure that everyone knew this was because he hated being home alone for long periods of time, but no one ever said anything about it. They just let him work.

Really, he appreciated it, because it kept him from having to have those kinds of inevitable awkward talks that had happened with Warrick and Sara earlier that day. He wanted his friends to care, but he wanted them to do it quietly. Every now and then he wondered if he was being a hypocrite, but didn't want to think about that either. Mostly, he just didn't want to think.

So he worked.

* * *

To be continued...


	4. Chapter 4

_Chapter Four_

Nick knocked lightly on the door to Catherine's office. The door was open, but he'd always thought, not to mention been raised, that it was more polite to announce your presence than to walk right into a room.

Catherine looked up from her computer and immediately frowned. "What are you still doing here?" She brought her wrist up and looked at her watch. "Warrick told me a couple of hours ago that the case was wrapped up."

"Yeah, well I offered to help Sara out with some things so she could get some sleep."

"Maybe you should get some yourself," Catherine said, eyeing him carefully.

Nick gave her a small, weary smile. "On my way now. Just wanted to say 'bye.' I'll see ya in a few."

Catherine gave him one of her big, bright smiles and he turned to leave.

"Oh, Nick?"

"Yeah?"

The smile had faded. "Grissom is going to get back sometime tonight, and he's going to want to talk to you."

Nick frowned. "About what?"

She gave him The Look.

"Oh, right. That." Nick was a bit embarrassed. Of course Sara had told her about what had happened with him and the teenage suspect, Peter Locke. Hell, she was probably going to put it in the department newsletter, just to make sure everyone knew what was going on with him.

He stood in the doorway, waiting for The Lecture that was sure to accompany The Look.

"Get some sleep," was all Catherine said, repositioning her fingers over her keyboard.

"Easier said than done," Nick said to himself, relieved that she was letting go. However, this probably meant she knew that Grissom was really going to let him have it, so she was taking it easy on him. He left the office and finally headed out of the building with heavy steps.

The late morning sun shone in his eyes and prompted an ache, a consistent, throbbing pulse in his head. It wasn't just one of the dull, bearable headaches that had been plaguing him recently, either. It was right behind his left temple, and throbbed to the point where he was squinting, even through his dark sunglasses.

_Home, food, sleep, _he told himself. That was all he needed, to recharge, refresh, and start anew.

* * *

The bad thing about alarm clocks is, if you ever manage to sleep through the loud, purposefully annoying bleats, they snooze themselves, sitting silently while you slumber away.

Nick did not hear nor did he respond to his alarm clock when it started going off at four in the afternoon. He was a little preoccupied, trapped in a nightmare he'd been subjected to numerous times over the past few months, since the first time, the time that really happened.

He couldn't breathe. Forget about the fact that he couldn't move…he couldn't get any air into his lungs, and they were screaming at him, begging for the cool relief of oxygen. Tiny but painful pricks were stabbing all down his arms and all over his face and he couldn't escape the pain because he couldn't move.

But he could see.

Nick was flat on his back, just how he swore he would never be again. Staring straight up and unable to even shift his head the slightest bit. A horribly brilliant white light was pulsing above him, blinding him. He squeezed his eyes shut tight, so tight that they started to water, but he could still see the light. His heart was thudding much too fast and too hard in his chest, but he couldn't seem to get himself to calm down.

His eyes forced themselves open against his will. The white flashes were illuminating shapes hovering over him, and their stillness was scaring him.

They stared down at him. He could see their faces. Gris, Catherine, Warrick, Sara, Greg…even Brass. They were all there. All staring. Not moving. Not helping him. Not saving him.

The light got brighter…it was impossibly white, burning his eyes. Black dots dances in the corners of the light.

_Help me! _he screamed. But he didn't, because he couldn't open his mouth. It didn't matter if he'd been able to say the words out loud, because they weren't moving.

All of a sudden they _were_ moving, away from him.

_Come back!_ His mind screamed again, so loud that he was sure that his mouth had formed the words and his vocal cords had pushed the sounds out, because his throat felt raw from the force of it.

The shapes started pulling back, and he was left with nothing to block even the tiniest bit of the light.

He was alone. And he couldn't breathe.

At the shrill ring of his cell phone, Nick bolted upright, sucking in deep gulps of air, feeling as though he had been holding his breath. His ears perked to the sound of the phone and he groped for it on his bedside table but it wasn't there. He reached his arm over the edge of the bed and felt around for it on the floor. His fingers scrabbled on the short carpet until they met the plastic casing and he whipped it open. "Yeah."

_"Nick, where are you?"_

"What?" Nick felt disoriented and sick. He brought up to his head and grimaced at how soaked with cold sweat his hair was.

_"Work? I've been calling you for almost forty minutes."_

Catherine sounded impatient and worried at the same. It was amazing how she could do that.

_What in the hell time is it? _Nick turned to his traitorous alarm clock. The little red dot was still illuminated next to the word 'alarm,' indicating that he had never turned it off. He was extremely late.

Nick rubbed more sweat from his face and hopped out bed, bracing himself with his arm. He felt like he'd just stepped off of a boat back onto steady land. "Sorry, Cath, I guess I slept through my alarm."

It didn't take more than a moment to steady himself. He grabbed a black tee and a fresh pair of jeans out of his closet, tossing them onto his bed.

_"You okay?"_

"Yeah, yeah, fine. I'll be in as quick as I can."

_"Okay. No rush." _

Which of course meant, 'get your ass in here as soon as physically possible.' Nick snapped his phone shut and tossed on the bed next to the clothes.

He stood in the middle of his bedroom for several minutes, calming himself down. He had worked to control his breathing while on the phone with Catherine, and it seemed much harder to maintain that control now. A chill ran down his spine, but he was soaked with sweat.

As far as the nightmares went, this one was pretty standard, sometimes recurring over the course of a single night. He tried not to analyze it, had never been one to look too deeply into the meaning of his dreams. He knew what had really happened. His friends didn't give up on him and leave him, they had saved him, and his subconscious was just being irrational. He told himself the dream meant nothing.

After a quick shower, Nick dressed in a hurry and headed out, his hair still wet. Jogging through his living room, he tripped on a bunch in the rug and nearly went sprawling but caught himself on the couch.

_Well, _Nick thought, rubbing a sore ankle, _this is just shaping up to be a great night._

* * *

Warrick eyed his friend carefully as Nick stumbled into the conference room an hour and a half late for shift.

Grissom was going to be arriving back in Vegas within the hour, so Catherine had doled out assignments again. And again, Warrick had asked her to be paired with Nick. Even though the two of them had talked it out, he just wasn't feeling a sense of closure with the issue, and he wanted to keep an eye on the man. There was a pit in his stomach, a feeling that shit was about to hit the fan and he sure wanted to be on the front lines when Nick needed him most.

"Hey, man," Nick drawled without making eye contact, heading straight for the coffee. "Catherine said I should check with you about our case."

Warrick raised his eyebrows. "Would you rather an IV drip, man?"

Nick turned, pouring a cup. His brow was furrowed. "Huh?"

"I swear I haven't seen you without a cup of coffee in your hand in a week."

Nick grinned. "Comes with the territory of working nights." He replaced the pot and eased into a chair.

Warrick shook his head. "I guess."

He handed the file he had been pouring through to Nick. "Hit and run on the strip. Victim's at Desert Palms. Sara went over to collect any trace samples from the clothes."

"Anyone check out the scene yet?"

"We were waiting for you."

Nick looked down at the table. "Let's go," he said in an uncharacteristically small voice.

Warrick wished that he hadn't snapped at Nick. The man really did look like hell, but he was afraid to bring it up again so soon. He just had to accept the fact that Nick was doing the best he could with such a bad situation.

He didn't know what else there was for him to do.

* * *

To be continued...


	5. Chapter 5

_Chapter Five_

When Gil Grissom stalked into the crime lab that night, he had certainly been in better moods. He was tired and cranky and sore from sitting in the plane seat for so long. He wasn't tired from the plane ride, had actually gotten in a nice little nap during the flight. It was two nights ago that he'd been rudely awakened by his cell phone…twice.

Out of town conferences were a nice break from the unconventional sleeping patterns the graveyard shift kept, and Gil had been looking forward to sleeping through the night. He wasn't nearly as young as he used to be, and it always made him feel like he was getting more rest, even though his body usually required less on these trips. It just seemed more natural to sleep during the night, so he slept better.

He shouldn't have been surprised to receive at least one call from his team. And he shouldn't have been surprised that the call would come at two in the morning, as that was when they were wide-awake and working.

"Grissom," he'd grumbled, his voice thick with sleep.

_"It's Sara. Were you sleeping?"_

"Yes." He didn't care if he sounded annoyed.

_"Oh, sorry."_

She definitely did not sound sorry.

Gil squinted at the clock on the bedside table. "Did you need something?" He pushed himself up in bed and switched on the lamp by the bed.

_"Yeah. Actually I wanted to talk to you about Nick."_

_At two in the morning?_ But his curiosity, if not his nerves, were peaked by the tone of her voice. "What about Nick?" he asked, more gently.

_"He threatened a suspect tonight. A kid."_

Gil rubbed his eyes. "What did he say, exactly?"

_"It's not what he said."_

Gil frowned. Sara seemed reluctant to be telling him this. "What are you talking about?"

There was silence on the other end.

"Sara?" he prompted.

_"He grabbed him and slammed him into a wall."_

He must have heard her wrong. Nick had always handled himself extremely professionally with suspects. If he had ever shown any fault during an interview or interrogation, it was the connection he strived to create, to get close to each victim, and even most suspects. He kept his cool like the best of them.

"Sara, I'm sure it wasn't that dramatic." He pulled back the comfortable hotel blankets and shuffled over to the mirror on the wall, studying the bags under his eyes.

"_I'm telling you, Grissom, he's losing it."_

"I think he's been handling himself very well considering the circumstances." He padded back over the bed and sat on the edge.

_"Yeah, well, you weren't here this week."_

There was something accusatory about her tone, and Gil's frown deepened. Sara sighed on the other end of the line.

_"He's been so out of it. He was ignoring the evidence and – "_

"Are you wanting me to talk to him?" Gil stretched out. Sara sighed again, this time out of relief.

_"I think that would help."_

"Okay, when I get back. I'll see you in a few days." He disconnected the call quickly and settled back under the covers, breathing deeply.

It wasn't fifteen minutes later, just as he was starting to doze again, that his phone rang once more.

"Yeah," Gil answered, hoping that his annoyance was obvious to the caller.

"_Hello to you, too."_

Gil pretended that Catherine was standing where the Monet print was hanging on the wall and glared at it. "You _do_ realize that I'm trying to sleep, right?"

_"Yes, and I didn't care. Why did you blow off Sara when she called you?"_

Gil rolled his eyes at her first comment and sighed at her second. "Because it's two-thirty in the morning and because I think she's overreacting."

_"What, you don't believe her?"_

"I don't believe that Nick would act like that with a suspect," Gil said patiently.

_"Well, believe it."_

Gil was quiet. Hearing something from Sara was one thing, she was always reading too deeply into every little thing. Hearing something from Catherine was completely different.

_"Thankfully, the kid isn't pressing charges."_

"It was that serious?" Gil's ears perked up.

Catherine gave a 'what did you think we were calling you for?' snort.

He started to take this seriously. "We can't be taking risks like that, even to get information. Nick should know that."

"_Yeah, he should."_

Gil assured Catherine that he would remind him and hung up. He waited for about five minutes, watching the phone, daring it to ring again. When it didn't, he'd shut the light off again and stretched out.

"Hey," Gil said now, leaning in the doorway of Catherine's office.

She looked up and smiled. "How was your trip?"

Gil shrugged. "It was a nice break. Got some rest," he added with a pointed look.

It didn't faze Catherine. "Nick's out at a scene. He and Warrick should be back any time." She frowned as Gil looked away. "You are still going to talk to him, right?"

Gil sighed. "What do you want me to say?"

Catherine slammed her pen down onto her desk. "I don't care what the hell you say, but you need to say something."

"Hey, guys," Nick appeared behind Gil, carrying a couple of evidence bags. His smile faded when he saw his supervisors' expressions.

He visually stiffened and swallowed. "Hey, Gris. Have a nice trip?"

"It was fine, Nick. How was your week?"

Nick glanced uneasily at Catherine, as if wary to answer the question with her in the room. "Can't complain," he said in a small voice, adding a tight smile.

Catherine glared in their direction, but Gil wasn't sure which of them it was aimed at. Everyone was quiet for a moment.

Nick shifted from foot to foot. "I'd better get to work on this evidence." He slowly started backing away, and when neither senior CSI objected, he turned and hurried down the hall.

"You men," Catherine gritted, stabbing at a file with her pen, "are unbelievable." She refused to make eye contact with Gil.

"Cath – "

"No. You're not going to 'Cath' your way out of this one. You told me that you were going to talk to him."

"And I will," Gil said, his eyes wide.

Catherine squinted at him. "I can tell you're lying right now. Once again, you're going to let your lacking social and emotional skills get in the way of helping someone who needs it. I'm disappointed in you." She slammed her file shut and picked it up, rising from her chair.

Gil watched her, eyes still wide, as she stalked across the small office.

Catherine's eyes were icy cold as they locked with his. "Maybe we should all take to your approach and just stand by and let Nick run himself into the ground." With that, she pushed past him and stomped down the hall, her heels clicking loudly on the tile.

Gil rubbed a hand over his face. He told himself that Nick couldn't possible being doing as bad as his coworkers were making it sound, and Catherine was just trying to guilt him into talking to Nick, which he really was planning on doing. Things like this just took time to prep for. He wanted to take the time to think about and prepare what he wanted to say to the young man.

One-on-one talks weren't exactly his forte.

* * *

_If you want something done, you're going to have to do it yourself,_ Catherine thought as she stormed through the halls of the lab, scanning the various rooms. She spotted Nick and Warrick in a lab room, laughing over something, and she barely paused.

"Nick, get your ass out here."

Both men looked at her wide-eyed. Nick's jaw dropped. "Cath, I need to – "

"Now." She could hear the two of them saying something as she continued down the hall, but wasn't really focusing on it. She found an empty work room and waited with crossed arms.

Nick entered slowly, glancing around the room as though checking for booby-traps. He stopped just inside the doorway, his arms hanging uncomfortably at his sides.

"What the heck is going with you lately?" Catherine asked. It perhaps wasn't the best way to start the conversation, but Catherine was never one to sugar coat what she had to say.

Nick frowned. "Where is this coming from?"

"Come on, Nick. You know Sara talked to me about the other night."

Nick mirrored her posture and crossed his arms. "That was two nights ago. I apologized, and last I heard everything was fine."

"The case is fine. I'm more worried about you." Catherine took a few steps back and sat on the edge of the table, bracing her arms on either side of her body.

Nick's eyes were sharp, even though his shoulders sagged. "I've told you guys, I'm doing just fine. I don't need everyone constantly breathing down my neck and pulling me aside."

"What _do_ you need?"

"I need you guys to believe me when I tell you that I'm fine, instead of hunting me down for these little talks."

There was an edge in his voice that Catherine wasn't used to hearing. She sat silent for a moment, fuming on the inside, waiting for him to finish his little rant.

He did. "Are you guys ever going to allow me to work a case solo again?"

Catherine felt her temper rising even further. She had thought that he was going to open up to her again, like he did years ago when he told her about something terrible that had happened to him as a child. Instead, he was making it about work. Deflecting her very warranted concern, and distracting her from the real issue.

"Is that what you want?" she asked him. "Fine. I'll pull Warrick and Sara off of that hit and run and you can have it all to yourself."

Nick rolled his eyes. "It was just a question, Cath."

"No, it's what you said you wanted. You've got it." She stood and breezed past him.

"Catherine," Nick called after her.

She didn't stop walking. "When you decide that you actually want to talk, you know where to find me."

* * *

To be continued...


	6. Chapter 6

_Chapter Six_

Sara sat across from Gil, holding her head in her hand. "You didn't do it, did you?"

Gil looked up from straightening his desk, which seemed to have accumulated nearly two dozen files, messages, and packages during his short absence. "I will."

Sara looked at the wall over his head. "When?"

Gil stuffed a handful of messages into the trash can. "I don't know."

"I think he'll listen to you."

"I'm not so sure about that." Gil scowled at a message scrawled in Ecklie's thick block handwriting. _Personnel evaluations by Friday. No excuses. _This, too, he tossed into the trash can.

"You're wrong."

"I'm not, Sara."

"Aren't you supposed to be our supervisor? It's your job to reprimand him." She frowned as he continued to throw things away.

Gil gave her a look. "It's not your job to tell me when to do so."

"Someone needs to," she said softly, but not softly as so Gil wouldn't hear her, which he assumed was the point.

He sighed. "I'll take care of it."

This seemed to satisfy Sara, for the time being, at least. He would take care of it, he just wasn't sure how yet. They had individually confronted Nick more than once in the course of the last couple days, and he had yet to admit his problems.

One of the files on his desk was the famed McBride case, needing his final signature before it was filed away forever. Gil studied it, getting an idea.

* * *

The last couple of days had been quite the emotional roller coaster ride for Nick. He'd been up, down, and right now, he was nearly seeing red.

Not only had Catherine pulled him aside, but it had become known to everyone in lab after what seemed like only a few minutes. Most gave him sympathetic looks as he passed, which just worked to further infuriate him. He didn't need their sympathy, coming across much more like pity.

The exception was David Hodges, who batted his eyes and mock-pouted at Nick as he passed him. Nick wanted to tell him off, but sure as hell wasn't going to run the risk of creating yet another scene in the lab. He'd had enough of that.

He walked back to the room where he'd left Warrick and wasn't in the least surprised to see Catherine just leaving. Nick wanted to stop her, but once again did not want to start anything else. He stood quietly and let her pass.

Warrick frowned at him. "What was that all about? Catherine just pulled me off of the case."

Nick's eyes narrowed. "It's not just you. She's pulling Sara, too."

"Why?"

"I think to teach me a lesson." Nick started pacing the small room.

"What lesson?"

_Here we go, _Nick thought, rolling his eyes. He forced a laugh. "Hell if I know."

Warrick smiled and shook his head, put at ease by his friend's good old reliable joking nature, and for the briefest of moments, Nick was disgusted with him.

Warrick gestured to the evidence they'd brought in. "Guess I'll leave you to it. I'll go see where Cath wants me."

He left the room and Nick glared down at the bags and photos on the table.

Sure, this is what he had wanted. He hadn't worked a case solo since the trash run that had put him in that godforsaken box. He just didn't want it this way, out of anger and spite, as a punishment. He wanted Grissom and Catherine to know that he was ready, which they obviously didn't, even though Nick was convinced he was. He was not going to let whatever he was dealing with interfere with his work.

He sighed and reached into a bag, pulling out the prints of the tire treads from the curb.

A throat was cleared in the doorway and Nick looked up and saw Grissom.

"Hey, Gris," he said, looking back down at his evidence.

"Nick. Can we – "

"Talk?" Nick finished at the same time Grissom said it, shaking his head. He didn't answer.

"Fine," Grissom said. "I really only have one thing to say anyway." He took a breath.

Nick looked up at him.

"You're suspended for a week."

"What? Grissom," Nick said, his voice louder and whinier than he would have liked it to be. His mouth hung open in disbelief.

Grissom shook his head, his face stony and seemingly expressionless. "No, Nick. You threatened a suspect."

Nick rolled his eyes. "It was not that bad."

"So you didn't grab and forcefully shove the suspect against a wall?"

Nick fumbled for words. He was expecting Grissom's lecture, but definitely not a suspension. He couldn't deal with that right now. "Do you know what they did – "

"Yes, I know all about the case," Grissom told him patiently. "But this isn't about what they did. It's about what you did." He turned to leave. "One week."

"Grissom, wait." Nick was pleading, and at the moment he couldn't care less. "I can't…don't suspend me, please." His eyes dropped to the table. "I need to keep working."

He saw Grissom's shadow move further into the room. "Why?"

Nick felt the familiar sting of oncoming tears and forced them back. He'd be damned if he was going to cry in front of Grissom. He took a few deep breaths. He couldn't let this happen – he needed the work, the lab, the distraction. "I just…can't deal with things right now. I can't be not working."

He'd nearly gone crazy during his medical leave. Sitting home all day, usually alone, with nothing to do but reflect on the things that had happened to him and why. He could not spend another week like that.

"Okay."

Nick looked up, surprised and wide-eyed. "What?"

Grissom nodded. "Okay." His expression never changed as he again turned to leave the room. "Get back to work."

Once again alone in the room, Nick's mind began racing to catch up, to make sense of what had just happened. Grissom had suspended him and revoked it all in the span of five minutes.

Nick frowned. There was just something about his tone…the way he had said 'okay'…the way he had prompted him.

_"Why?"_

And it dawned on him. Grissom hadn't really been planning on suspending him. He'd just said that to get Nick to admit that he was having trouble, whatever trouble that may be. And Nick had answered him. Grissom's pawn, once again. _Silk, silk, silk. _It seemed that Grissom could get him to say anything he wanted.

Nick felt incredibly stupid. Humiliated, even. He'd given Grissom the answer that everyone had been trying for days to get out of him. That he wasn't as ready to jump back into life the way it had been before. That he wasn't dealing.

And now they knew.

* * *

To be continued...


	7. Chapter 7

_Chapter Seven_

Nick took his time emerging into the busy halls of the lab. He wasn't sure how long exactly he had been standing, dumbfounded, in the middle of the workroom, but it didn't seem to have been long enough to warrant someone to come looking for him. They were probably all gathered in Grissom's office, practicing their 'I-told-you-so's.

Nick was bitter and resentful and thought he was perfectly entitled to be feeling so. The way he saw it, Grissom had played with his mind and preyed on his insecurities, and that was neither excusable nor forgivable in his eyes. At the same time, he was awestruck at the power that his supervisor had over him. A few simple words had been all it took to get out the things that Warrick, Sara, and Catherine had tried so desperately to get him to reveal. He hated it, and at the moment, he hated himself and how embarrassingly easy he'd made it for the man. It was that incessant and seemingly uncontrollable need to please his boss, to make sure that Grissom didn't think poorly of him. He was ready and willing to say anything to the man. It was pathetic.

Nick had been thinking too hard and too much, his head pounding. He'd never been the type to have chronic headaches, but had been recently plagued with them. It all stemmed from his inability to deal, his therapist would say. If he was still seeing his therapist, that is.

It had been three months since Nick had last gone. It had been part of the requirement for his reactivation in the field, so he had gone for the mandatory six weeks. And then he had stopped. His therapist hadn't understood that he _didn't need to talk, _something his friends were having a hard time understanding now.

The first couple sessions had gone by as whole hours of nearly complete silence. And then one week, he had tried something out.

_"How are you doing today, Nick?"_

_Nick shrugged. "Better, I guess."_

Nick had never thought of the word "better" as one of the most powerful words in the English language, but it was. "Better" kept people quiet, kept them happy. You couldn't argue with someone when they said that they were doing better.

This led Nick to try out other non-committal, non-specific phrases.

_"How are you sleeping?"_

_"Not too bad."_

_The doctor looked hard at him. "Could you be more specific?"_

Which brought Nick to his new favorite word.

_"It's fine."_

Nick didn't need the therapy. He didn't need pills. He didn't need talking and talking and more talking, until his throat was raw. He needed time. And space. And to be left the hell alone.

He wasn't an invalid, or a child, but they didn't seem to have gotten that memo.

Nick thought about what they were all probably doing right now. Talking about him, and that was basically a given. He was sure they'd been doing a lot of that lately. They should just stuff him and put him next to the front desk like a statue, give him a water bottle and a wheel and cram him into a terrarium on Grissom's shelf. He was a great conversation piece.

Nick couldn't imagine facing any of his coworkers at the moment, couldn't handle another single tear or accusation, so he stayed in the small room for as long as he could. But he couldn't think of himself forever; there were things to do, evidence to process, and he would have to come out eventually.

* * *

"That was it?" Catherine asked incredulously, leaning against Gil's desk.

She was frowning, and didn't look at all as happy as he would have expected. Not to say that finding out Nick was keeping his thoughts and emotions so much to himself that he felt he would crack if he wasn't able to have the distraction of work was anything to be happy about.

Gil raised his eyebrows. "Yeah."

"That was it? That was all you said?" Catherine cocked her head. "'Why' and 'Okay'?"

"Yeah."

There was a pause.

"And he told you…just like that?"

Gil sighed. "Catherine, I'd really rather not talk about this right now. I have a lot of work to catch up on."

Catherine didn't move from her seat on the edge of the desk. Gil could feel her eyes on the top of his head and looked up at her.

"You're going to talk to him again, right? Like, really talk to him."

Gil pulled off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "Catherine – "

"Gil, it's obvious that you're the only one he's going to talk to. He's so invested in what you think about him, he'll talk to you."

"You sound like Sara."

Catherine gave a small grimace but shrugged. "Maybe she has a point."

Gil folded his hands in front of him. "Have we given any consideration as to what Nick wants?"

Catherine shook her head. "I don't care what he wants. This is what he needs."

"That may be, but if he doesn't see it that way, then the whole thing would be pointless."

Catherine threw her arms up in frustration. "So what are we supposed to do? Stand back and wait for him to fall apart?"

Gil didn't answer. He didn't know how to.

* * *

Greg was making his way to the DNA lab when he saw Nick poke his head out of a door to his left. He jogged up to his friend and clapped him on the back. "What's up, man?"

Nick jumped about two feet in the air and regarded Greg somewhat warily, with wide eyes. "Hey," he said evenly.

Greg frowned. Nick looked pale, was grasping papers so tightly in his hand that they were creasing.

"Careful, man. You'll ruin those impressions," he said, adding an easy grin.

Nick looked down at his hand and back up at Greg sheepishly. "We can't have that," he drawled. He moved the pages to his other hand and made eye contact with something over Greg's shoulder.

Instinctively, Greg turned his head just a bit to glance behind him. There was nothing there. He looked back Nick, once again frowning. "You okay, Nick?"

Nick's eyes shot back over. He smiled. "Yeah, yeah. Just getting a bit of a headache. I'll be cool." He pulled at the neck of his tee shirt.

"Alright." Greg pointed down the hall. "DNA."

Nick made a gesture in the opposite direction. "Treads."

"Later." Greg paused just long enough to shoot another look behind him as Nick moved past him, massaging his right temple.

Greg chewed on his lip. He wasn't stupid. Nick was clearly in some serious repression or denial or both. Anyway you looked at it, it wasn't healthy. He contemplated following Nick for just a moment, but the recent failures of his coworkers kept him stationary.

Everyone was talking about him, and Greg was sure that Nick knew it. He wasn't an idiot. Greg wanted to find a way to talk to Nick without making his friend feel like they were all ganging up on him.

Warrick was coming down the hall, and jerked his head in greeting. "Hey. Have you talked to Gris yet?"

Greg shook his head. "No, about what?"

Warrick nodded at Nick's retreating form.

Greg frowned, confused. "No."

There was an implied question mark at the end of the word, but Warrick chose to ignore it.

"Nothing," he said. "I'll see ya later, man."

Warrick walked in the direction that Nick had just left in, and Greg had a hunch what he was going to do. He just wasn't sure if that was such a good idea.

* * *

Nick once again pulled at the neck of his shirt. All of a sudden, it had felt all too tight, and he thought about the spare button-down hanging in his locker. Surely he would be able to breathe easier in that. He could leave the top unbuttoned and hopefully not feel like he was being strangled.

Nick dropped the tire treads off with Hodges, promising that he would be right back, and headed for the locker room. He had just finished buttoning the dark shirt, breathing much easier, when he heard the door open.

"Hey."

It was Warrick. "Hey," Nick said, rolling up his sleeves. It still felt a little stuffy.

He turned and saw that Warrick was just standing there. He knew exactly what Warrick was there for, but he pretended that he didn't, because if one more person asked him how he was doing, he was probably going to go postal.

'What's up?" he asked. Before Warrick answered, Nick's pager went off. He looked down at the screen and sighed. Hodges. _I told him I'd be right back._

He looked up at Warrick, and his expression was genuinely apologetic, mostly. "I gotta – "

Warrick held up a hand. "Hang on a second."

So Nick waited, hands on his hips, willing Warrick to just let it go.

He didn't. He took a few breaths, and Nick knew what was coming: the same old shit. It was a good thing Warrick was avoiding making eye contact with Nick, otherwise he would have seen one hell of a frustrated eye roll.

"What's goin' on with you, man?" Warrick asked, finally looking up at Nick. "I thought you could talk to me. I thought you _did _talk to me. Now I find out you're lying to me and opening up to Gris?" He sounded hurt.

"Nothing is going on with me, man," Nick replied, thoroughly sick of the same old questions. "I'm fi – "

"If you say 'fine,' I swear I'm gonna knock the hell outta you." Warrick's tone was low and even.

"_Fine_," Nick finished, glaring at Warrick. He was daring him to do it. On some level, _wanting_ him to do it. Maybe just to feel something he knew was real.

Warrick pulled his fist back and slammed it into the locker next to Nick's head.

Nick flinched in spite of himself. Both men glared at each other.

Warrick pointed an angry finger at him, his eyes dark and cold. "You need to get your shit together, man."

He seemed to think that this was the end of the conversation, and turned to leave.

"Why?" Nick asked, not really thinking. He was angry and reacting, wanting to see if he could really get Warrick to do what he threatened. "It seems like you guys are having a fun time trying to do it for me."

When Warrick whirled around, he wasn't messing around this time, and his fist connected solidly with the side of Nick's face.

* * *

To be continued...


	8. Chapter 8

_Chapter Eight_

It happened before Warrick had time to think, or plan, or take a full breath.

Something inside of him snapped. The same something that had sent Dominick Hale home with a bloody nose in the fifth grade, that had landed him a two-day suspension freshman year of high school after a locker-room confrontation after gym class.

In that moment, he had just flat-out reached his limit. A man could not be expected to keep his frustrations inside forever. A release was needed, or he would go crazy.

Warrick remembered thinking on more than one occasion that Nick needed some sense knocked into him, but he been thinking in metaphorical terms; he had never intended for something like this to happen. He'd never thought there was a chance that it ever could.

Warrick and Nick had gotten into their fair share of scuffles on the ball court, or exchanged friendly shoves during a game of one-on-one Madden mania…but nothing had ever culminated in one actually striking the other. It was natural that they wouldn't know how to react.

Nick looked like someone had shot his dog rather than socked him in the jaw. His mouth hung open, his eyes wide and awestruck. His hand ghosted around the angry red mark on his face, not really touching but definitely acknowledging that this had actually just happened.

Warrick was beyond shocked at himself and his actions, betrayed by his right hand, which suddenly felt very heavy and like nothing more than a burden, one he didn't want anymore. He didn't know what to do now, how to even begin to explain his actions, let alone apologize. He had never imagined the two of them would be standing in this moment. "Nicky, I – "

"Don't," Nick said, sounding neither angry nor upset. In fact, he didn't sound like Nick at all. His voice was hollow, and Warrick found it immensely difficult to look him in the eyes.

Neither man moved. Warrick studied the linoleum floor, and he could feel Nick's unmoving eyes focusing on the top of his head. He wished more than anything for Nick to hit him back. He wished Nick would do anything besides just stand there, dumbfounded, or worse, like he'd deserved it. Nick was a reserved kind of guy, yeah, but he, like Warrick, had a limit. Warrick was sure that this should have pushed him to it, but still, Nick didn't move.

A minute passed. Then five. Warrick wasn't going to be the first to move, because he didn't want his friend to think that he could just walk away from something like this so easily. Besides, he couldn't if he wanted to. His legs felt heavy, lead-laden. He opened his mouth to speak on more than one occasion, but couldn't get anything out.

So he stood.

* * *

Nick couldn't get his mind to stop racing long enough to focus on any single thought. Actually, he could get one: _what the hell just happened?_

His jaw was throbbing, but he wasn't focusing on that. He was just staring, and didn't know what he was waiting for. Not for Warrick to apologize, because he'd already put a quick end to that. He wasn't sure why he'd interrupted Warrick. Warrick _should_ apologize. A tiny voice nagged Nick: _maybe because you deserved it. _

He knew he'd been keeping his friends in the dark on a lot of things lately but until this week, everything had been running pretty smoothly. They didn't ask, and he didn't tell. It was like his friends had just this week remembered what had happened to him, and became concerned.

He'd reacted. He balled himself up even more than he had already been, and pulled away. He got angry and defensive. He repressed. And now he regressed. How childish to taunt Warrick like that. Nick knew exactly why he'd done it, because he had _known _that there was not a chance in hell that Warrick would actually hit him.

So Nick was left wondering, _what the hell just happened?_

Forever ticked by before either of them made a move.

Nick stared as Warrick lifted his head slightly and gave a small sigh. Not one of regret, or frustration, but of defeat. Something had beaten him. He was going to speak, and Nick was going to let him this time. He didn't have the willpower to get himself to stop him again.

"Nick." Warrick paused, waited for the interruption.

Nick stayed silent.

"That was…" Warrick trailed off, as if searching for the right word.

"Just say it, 'Rick," Nick croaked out, as though he hadn't spoken in weeks. His voice did not sound at all like his own.

"Say what?"

"That I had it coming."

Warrick looked taken aback. "No." He shook his head, over and over. "No." He still couldn't find that word he'd been searching for, and he slipped back into silence, after emitting once more, "No."

Nick didn't have the strength for the silence. He was beaten down, figuratively and literally. He was done. Miraculously, his pager beeped. He was supposed to get back with Hodges about the tire treads. His mind wandered to everyone out there, everything that was going on outside of the room, and how he was supposed to be a part of it. Not here, he wasn't supposed to be here.

Wherever 'here' was.

After a few tries, Nick got his feet to move. He moved past Warrick. He may or may not have said something…he didn't remember.

He moved out the door. His hand worked the handle easily, on the first try, better than he would have given it credit for.

And he moved back out into the lab. Where everyone was expecting him to be moving on.

* * *

Somehow, Warrick found his way into the break room. Nick had paused in the locker room and made eye contact for just the briefest of moments and something else inside of Warrick had snapped.

The look in Nick's eyes…he'd looked lost. Abandoned, was more like it. Warrick had let him down.

He sank heavily into a chair and watched the movement out in the halls, wondering if anyone knew, what they would say, what they would think. He was so invested in watching the movement outside of the room that he didn't notice someone coming _into_ the room.

"Warrick? God, what's wrong?" Catherine quickly sat across from him and immediately took his hands in hers. He wrenched his eyes off of the window and met hers. The simple movement caused tears to well in his eyes.

"You look…"

She didn't have to finish. He knew how he looked. Like someone he loved had just died.

Warrick gave a small, sad laugh, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. He couldn't look at her any longer.

"I think I broke him."

* * *

To be continued...


	9. Chapter 9

_Chapter Nine_

Catherine held tightly onto Warrick's hands. Too tightly, perhaps, considering the golden band on his left ring finger, but she was willing to let that slide for the moment and it seemed he was, too. She'd been on her way to find him, needing him on a new case, and had spotted him out of the corner of her eye as she rushed past the break room, staring listlessly out the window. He hadn't even noticed she was in the room until she had sat down across from him and taken hold of his trembling hands.

Catherine studied Warrick's expression, feeling tears start to well in her eyes, just as they were in Warrick's. He looked utterly hopeless and it was breaking her heart. She hadn't seen him like this since…

"I think I broke him."

Catherine's eyes widened at the words. "Who? Warrick, what's going on?"

He didn't need to respond. The look in his eyes was enough. Catherine's lips parted in a little 'o' of surprise. "Warrick," she breathed. She needed to know what was going on, right now. She immediately thought about how hard she had been on Nick, and became instantly worried about him. Guilty about the way she'd spoken to him earlier.

Warrick seemed to be looking past her, over her shoulder, out the window again. "I ruined him, Cath," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Catherine swallowed the lump in her throat. "What are you talking about?"

It took him several minutes, but Warrick eventually spoke. Catherine listened silently, her eyes growing progressively wider, as he relayed the events that had just occurred. She nearly fell out of her chair when Warrick told her that he had hit Nick.

"Warrick," she said, but didn't know where to go from there. She didn't need to scold him, he looked miserable enough already, but she couldn't help thinking about the position he had put himself in.

"What were you thinking?" she asked.

"I wasn't."

Catherine stood and started to pace in the small room. "You could be suspended. You could lose your job over – "

"You think I give a damn about my job right now?" Warrick asked, voice cracking.

Catherine's pacing and thoughts both came to an abrupt halt, and she brought her hand up to her mouth. "Oh, God. Nick." She sank back into her chair. "What did he do?"

"He just…left."

Catherine tried to give Warrick a comforting smile but couldn't be sure how it actually came out, and patted his hands, which were still clasped on the tabletop in front of him.

Warrick looked up at her as though he'd already forgotten she was in the room. He looked around the room, eyes wide. "I gotta go find him, Cath." He pulled his hands away and quickly got to his feet. "I have to fix this."

Catherine thought about stopping him, about telling him that maybe Nick just needed some time, immediately feeling utterly disgusted with herself.

That was thing they had been refusing to admit all along, and now it was coming back to bite them in the ass.

* * *

The hallways were a dim blur of florescent light and speckled linoleum. The lively chatter of the lab techs and seemingly constant ringing of phones and beeping of pagers were reduced to a dull roar of background noise as Nick moved through the lab like he was on autopilot. It was taking no effort on the part of his brain to navigate the halls; his legs were working on their own. His mind was…somewhere else.

It seemed empty. Nick wasn't making any kind of conscious effort to keep any thoughts at bay, but it was happening all the same. All he was focusing on was the fact that he had a job to do. He'd already kept Hodges waiting much longer than he had intended.

Several people smiled, waved, or said 'hey' as Nick passed them and somehow, Nick managed to acknowledge every one. He walked straight to Hodges' lab station and stood at the other side man's desk, staring at the top of his head.

"About time," Hodges started as he noticed Nick's presence and looked up. He stopped and laughed. "What happened to your face?"

Nick unconsciously brought his hand up to his jaw line, feeling the tenderness there, the start of an angry bruise. He hadn't thought about that, about the physical evidence he couldn't ignore or hide.

"I fell," he said. It was only half of a lie.

Hodges rolled his eyes. "I bet." He rotated the computer monitor and pointed to the screen. "Treads look like they came from a large vehicle, probably an SUV…"

Nick squinted at the computer screen, trying to put the characters together. Hodges was still talking, but Nick didn't hear any of it. His hand was still cupping his cheek, and he winced at the pain when he moved his jaw.

_"I fell."_

Was he ever going to stop doing this? Was this his life now, going to work and pushing people away and lying and working and losing sleep and working and working until he finally, mercifully hit the bottom? He wondered how long it was going to take, because he wasn't sure how much longer he could do this.

"…ick. Nick. _Nick._"

"What?" Nick snapped.

Hodges raised his detestable eyebrows. "Well, now." He motioned to the computer monitor. "So, did you want me to print this out for you, or do you want to stare at it a little more and just hope that your brain magically absorbs it."

"Uh, print it out," Nick said, looking away. If he didn't start paying attention, people were going to think that he was crazy. Although, that would probably be better than what they were thinking now.

"Print it out, _what_?" Hodges asked with a smirk.

"_Now_."

"Alright, alright. You CSIs are so pushy."

Nick took the pages from Hodges, managed a 'thanks,' and went to find an empty workroom. He needed to go over them, since he hadn't heard anything that Hodges that said beyond "large vehicle."

* * *

The first thing Sara noticed was the way Nick was practically slumped over on the table, holding his chin in his hand. It was a stupid, seemingly insignificant thing to notice, but Nick was a sit-straight, stand-tall kind of guy.

She knocked lightly on the doorframe but Nick didn't turn around, or even look up. She walked up behind him and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Nick?"

He flinched away from her touch and faced her with a look in his eyes that caused Sara to take a step back. He looked as though he thought she might be someone that was going to hurt him. He looked like he was waiting for it.

Nick's hand slipped from his face and Sara's jaw dropped. She gaped at the sizeable bruise forming there.

"Nick, what happened?" She placed a couple of evidence bags, clothing and fibers she had collected from the hit-and-run victim in the hospital, on the table.

There was that trademark crooked grin, but it seemed forced. "Ah, nothing, Sara. Just me being graceful, as usual."

"Okay…" Sara wasn't entirely convinced, but if there was one thing that she had learned this week, it was that she couldn't force Nick to talk about something he didn't want to. She nodded to the bags next to her. "Catherine called me and said to hand this stuff off to you."

"Thanks." He looked back at the paper in his hand.

Sara played with the tape on the evidence bag closest to her. "What did you do?"

"Hmm?"

"Well, if Grissom and Catherine pulled us off of the case to make you work it alone, you must have done something to piss them off." She was teasing, but there was absolutely no reaction from Nick.

"They're not making me, I asked to do it," he said in a flat voice, still staring at the same spot on the same page.

Sara frowned. "Are you coming down with something, you look a little…"

Nick turned wearily to face her, and she was amazed how down and tired he looked. Just a couple of days ago, he'd been laughing and joking and full of energy, eager to dive headfirst into their case. Somewhere, something had gone wrong.

Sara sat down next to Nick and gently pulled the report out of his hand. "I'll help with this, okay?"

Nick shook his head. "No, I got it." He reached to get the paper back.

Sara held it close, playing keep-away. "Nick – "

"I can do this, Sara." It was the first thing he'd said since she entered the room that had any kind of emotion behind it, and there was no mistaking the emotion he meant to convey. He was angry.

"Okay." She handed the report over to him. "Don't be afraid to get me of you need some help, okay?" She motioned to the bags. "There's not a whole lot of evidence here."

Nick clenched his jaw and nodded. The clenching caused him to wince, but Sara acted like she hadn't noticed.

She backed out of the room and turned at the door.

"I'm not afraid," she heard Nick mutter as she started down the hall.

_I am_, Sara thought.

* * *

To be continued...


	10. Chapter 10

_Chapter Ten_

It was almost noon the next day before Nick finally pulled into his driveway. The rest of the night had gone by relatively smoothly. He'd gotten the feeling Warrick was been looking for him, not to mention the fact several people had told him so, and he'd managed very well to avoid him. He discovered several rooms in the lab that, in all the years he had worked there, hadn't known existed, and they had proved to be very useful.

That didn't deter Warrick from calling several times. Nick let his cell phone ring and ring and ring until it went to his voicemail at least fifteen times. All of the voicemails were the same.

_"Nick, hey. It's Warrick. Give me a call when you get this, okay?"_

_"Hey, Nick. I just…can you call me or find me or whatever, when you get this?"_

_"Hey, it's me again. Just…I just want us to talk. Call me, okay?"_

_"Nick, I…please, just call me."_

It wasn't that Nick was avoiding Warrick. He wasn't mad at Warrick. He was avoiding the situation. He really wasn't mad at Warrick. He didn't know what he was. Tired, that was for sure. But beyond that…he just felt like a lifeless lump.

Nick had hit his emotional limit, and now he was very simply drained. He'd gone through the day reacting nothing more than indifferently to the people he encountered. Not the best way to try to solve a case, but he had managed well enough.

The tire treads and paint chips pulled from the victim's clothing led him to the owner of a dark blue Ford Expedition, a Paul Reiner who lived not five blocks from the scene. A warrant granted Nick access to the SUV, and he pulled several fibers from the front bumper that matched perfectly the clothes the victim had been wearing.

Nick entered his house and moved straight through the living room, heading for his bedroom. He ignored the blinking light on his answering machine that indicated that he had three new messages, tossed his jacket instead onto the annoying appliance.

He fell back onto his bed and squinted at the bright afternoon sunlight streaming in through the window, invading his space. The act reminded him of the pain in his jaw and he winced, which also didn't help. He sighed and heaved himself up off of his bed and went to the window, closing the dark shades.

_That's better,_ Nick thought, and flung himself down again. He didn't even bother to take his shoes off. He wasn't going to be sleeping very long.

* * *

Warrick spied Catherine walking down the hall from his command post in the break room. "Cath!" he called, jumping up from the couch and jogging out to meet her.

Catherine cocked her head sympathetically, anticipating his question. "Sorry, Warrick. I haven't seen him. Maybe he wrapped up the case and went home." She shut the case file she was carrying. "Have you tried calling him?"

Warrick snorted. "At least a dozen times. His cell and his house." He sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. "He won't pick up. I don't know what to do."

Catherine shook her head. "Neither do I. It seems like no matter what we do, it's not the right thing." She put a hand on his arm. "You can't blame yourself."

Warrick frowned. "How can you say that?"

"Warrick – "

"I lost it, Cath, and I did something so _stupid_…what if he doesn't get better? Ever? Because of what I did?"

Catherine was silent, her mouth hanging open, at a loss for words. Not exactly the reaction Warrick was looking for. He knew it was wrong to want Catherine to make him feel better for what he did. He didn't deserve it, but he needed something, some validation that he wasn't the most awful friend, but he was.

"I…I don't know," she finally said, her arms falling to her sides. "I guess we just deal."

Warrick shook his head. "I couldn't do that."

Catherine sighed. "No. I don't think I could either."

Warrick put his hands on his hips. "So what do we do?"

"I think we all take a step back, before we collectively do anymore irreversible damage."

Warrick and Catherine turned to the analytical voice that they all knew so well.

* * *

"…you can't blame yourself."

"How can you say that?"

"Warrick – "

Gil came upon Warrick and Catherine in the hall and stopped. He didn't even have to guess what, or who, they were talking about.

Warrick's next words brought a frown to Gil's face. What exactly had he done, he wondered. Neither of them seemed to notice he was there, and continued their conversation.

Gil waited for the perfect moment to make his presence known, his frown deepening.

"So what do we do?"

"I think we all take a step back," Gil cut in, "before we collectively do anymore irreversible damage."

The two CSIs turned around in surprise.

"Hey, Gris," Warrick said uneasily. "How long you been standing there?"

Gil bypassed the question and focused on the thing Warrick had said that had him so concerned. "How did you lose it, Warrick?"

Warrick held up a defensive hand. "Gris – "

"How did you lose it, Warrick?" Gil repeated, in the same steady tone. He raised his eyebrows.

Catherine coughed and looked away.

Gil rolled his eyes in her direction and focused his attention on Warrick. Something was going on that his people weren't telling him, and he didn't like it.

Warrick sighed and threw his head back, shaking it at the ceiling. When he came back down, he bit his lip. "Me and Nicky kinda got into it, and I…" he trailed off.

Gil motioned for him to continue.

Warrick wouldn't look Gil in the eye, made a slow, halfhearted jabbing motion with his arm.

Gil's jaw dropped. "You hit him?" It came out a lot louder than he intended, and several people stopped talking or walking to stare in their direction.

Gil didn't want to believe it. Besides being completely unprofessional, the idea of Warrick hitting Nick went completely against the way Gil had always perceived him. He had a temper, that was for sure, but he'd always managed to rein it in.

Gil frowned at the lab techs attempting to eavesdrop on their conversation and glanced sideways at Catherine. "You knew about this?"

Catherine blinked, fumbled for her words. "Well, I…Warrick was – "

"In my office," Gil instructed, marching down the hall. The two CSIs followed quickly, keeping up with his hurried pace.

Once they were all tucked away inside the relative privacy his office, Gil slammed the door and whirled on the two members of his team. "What in the hell is going on around here?" he demanded, throwing out his arms.

Warrick stared at his shoes, while Catherine stared straight ahead. Neither spoke, so Gil continued.

"I go away for a few days and I come back to a team that's just completely coming apart at the seams, and becoming physically violent with one other?"

Warrick's head snapped up. "It wasn't like that, Gris!"

"It doesn't matter how it was like, Warrick! You should have come to me right away. You too, Catherine. What if Ecklie finds out about this?"

"Then Ecklie finds out about it, I don't care!"

Gil studied Warrick carefully. The younger man was breathing heavily, his eyes were impossibly wide. He was clearly upset about what had happened, as he should be. Nonetheless…

"You need to calm down, Warrick," he said gently.

"How can I?" Warrick's shoulders sagged. "If you had seen his face…I'm worried about him, Gris."

Gil sat back on top on his desk. "I know, Warrick. But you need to think before you act or speak. We don't want to keep driving him away, do we?"

Catherine hadn't spoken until this point. "But, Gil, if we give him the space that he wants, he's just going to keep repressing all of the things he went through," she said. "Hell, we've pretty much been promoting it up to this point. And what about he's going through now?"

Gil shrugged. "Maybe we're not the ones who are meant to help him."

Warrick raised his eyebrows. "I hear that. We're not exactly doing a great job of trying, are we?"

"So," Catherine asked, looking between the two men, "what do we do now?"

* * *

It was a new night, but the nightmare was always the same.

It didn't take the ringing of his cell phone to bring Nick out of it this time. It was more like his mind and body had finally come together and shouted 'Enough already!'

Nick bolted upright, a hand pressed tightly to his chest. Maybe if he applied enough pressure, he could slow his heart, beating so hard it was physically hurting him. He shot a look at the clock and nearly lost it. He'd only been asleep for forty-five minutes. That couldn't possibly be enough time to experience such a vivid dream.

He fell back, his head thumping against the headboard. Maybe he could just beat the memories out of his head.

Nick raised his head and brought it back hard. He repeatedly knocked it against the headboard, and cursed himself for the few tears that slipped down his cheeks.

* * *

To be continued...


	11. Chapter 11

_Chapter Eleven_

It had started raining. It wasn't like Nick didn't already feel as low as he ever had, but now was Mother Nature throwing more fuel in the fire.

Nick drew the blinds, leaned forward, and let his forehead rest against the cool glass of his living room window. It was a little after three, and the kids across the street were just getting off of the school bus, finally home for the night. Despite the rain, they seemed happy and playful. The younger boy raced his sister to the door and thrust his arm triumphantly in the air upon reaching the front step first.

Only two yards and a street separated them, but Nick felt as though he was looking in on an entirely different world, like he was an imposter on other people's happiness. No one could blame him for feeling so. He knew he wasn't the most thrilling person to be around. Not lately, no matter how he tried. He was just going to have to try harder.

Nick took a few deep breaths. He was being so selfish, focusing on his own problems, making everyone worry, for nothing. He could take care of himself. He didn't want to be a distraction any longer.

He straightened and swallowed with difficulty. It was going to be hard, but he was determined to give off the appearance that he was okay, to rebuild that façade he'd kept so well for months.

* * *

Sara was just coming into the lab with a quick step, to get out of the light rain that was still falling, when Nick bounded, _bounded_, up to her, a grin on his face.

"Hey, Sar."

Taken aback, Sara stopped and stuttered a bit. "H-hey, Nick."

He moved past her into the warm, dry entryway and paused, holding open the door for her. "You comin'?"

Sara nodded and walked in, staring at him as she passed. The bruise along his jaw line had darkened, and it drew her gaze.

Nick seemed to notice but shrugged it off with another easy smile. "It's cool. Doesn't even hurt."

Sara raised her eyebrows. The two walked into Grissom's office, where both of their supervisors were sitting, seemingly in the middle of a serious conversation.

Nick nodded to both of them. "Gris. Cath."

"Hey, guys," Catherine said. She winced in sympathy, looking at Nick's bruise.

Sara noticed Grissom's eyes flash with just the slightest bit of anger, like he knew something she didn't. It wasn't uncommon, but it still annoyed her when she didn't know exactly what was going on. She wasn't necessarily a busybody, didn't _have_ to know what was going on with everyone else…just liked to be in the know.

"Do you have anything for us?" she asked.

Grissom studied the mark on Nick's face for a few uncomfortable, silent moments before looking down at his desk. "No, actually. Not yet." He lifted a single slip of paper. "Just a B and E, we sent Warrick out about a half an hour ago."

Nick leaned casually on the back of Catherine's chair. "He stay in the lab all day?"

Catherine turned her head and eyed him carefully. "Yeah, he felt like he had some unfinished business."

Nick swallowed and glanced away.

Sara frowned. There was definitely something going on that she knew jack about.

Nick straightened and jerked his head towards the door. "You guys mind if I grab something to eat, then?"

Catherine and Grissom exchanged yet another look that Sara didn't understand, and she felt her frustration growing.

"No, Nick," Grissom said. "Go ahead."

"Find me if you need anything," he called over his shoulder as he headed down the hall.

As soon as he was out of their eyesight, Grissom leaned forward, Catherine's mouth dropped, and Sara frowned, eyebrows furrowed.

"I-what…he…" Catherine stammered.

Sara shook her head. "Did something happen that I don't know about?"

Grissom shrugged. "I think something happened that none of us know about."

"Yeah," Catherine finally verbalized. "What the hell was that? The last time I saw him – "

"Sara, would you shut the door?" Grissom cut in.

Sara turned and gently closed the door. Hoping that she was finally being let in on something that she had been in the dark on for…God knows how long. Grissom motioned for her to sit in the empty chair next to the one that Catherine occupied.

"I think it's safe to say that Nick is some kind of extreme denial," he said to the women.

"You _think_?" Catherine asked.

Grissom raised his eyebrows. "I wonder if he's spoken with Warrick yet."

"Yeah, did I miss something there?" Sara asked.

Grissom and Catherine exchanged looks again, as if they were having some kind of silent conversation.

"They kind of got into a thing," Catherine finally said, in a tone that did not match the apparent seriousness of the situation. "and Warrick – "

"Did Warrick _hit_ him?" Sara sat forward, gaping. The bruise on Nick's face was suddenly obviously in the wrong shape and place to have come from a fall.

They didn't need to answer. She could read it in their expressions.

"Oh my God," she breathed. She found herself instantly wishing that Warrick was in the room, so that she could give him quite a large piece of her mind. And maybe a bruise of his own.

A part of her didn't believe them. Nick and Warrick were best friends, and Sara was sure that if such a confrontation had occurred, there was no way that Nick would be smiling right now. As a matter of fact, Sara was sure such an altercation would never, _ever_ happen. In a world filled with violence and awful and people, she refused to accept something like this would invade the core group of people in her life. But that had never stopped such things from happening before, and the things she was sure of were suddenly all up in the air.

"It's got to be an act," Catherine said, her voice unnaturally high, stating what Sara had just been thinking.

Grissom gave a general, non-committal shake of his head. "Why?" he asked quietly, almost to himself. Probably to himself.

Catherine made a sound that was somewhere between a snort and a laugh. "Why?"

Grissom's head snapped up, a deep frown on his face.

"You think that was the real Nick?"

"No. I mean, why is he acting all of a sudden?"

Sara couldn't keep quiet any longer. "It's not all of a sudden, Grissom," she said angrily. "This is how things have been for a while. Where have you been?"

Grissom sat back as though her words had actually hit him. "I've been right here, Sara – "

"And you're telling me that you never once questioned the way he was acting?"

"Have you, Sara?"

Sara glared at him. She _had_ noticed, but she hadn't voiced her concerns until it seemed to be too late. She refused to think of her inquiry as hypocritical, because she was asking if Grissom had _questioned_ Nick's actions, not voiced any doubts about them.

"Hang on a second, Gil," Catherine interjected, holding up a hand. She looked at Sara as well. "Getting mad at each other isn't going to solve anything."

There was a knock at the door. It cracked open, and Warrick's head emerged. Under different circumstances, the look on his face would have been comical.

"I just ran into Nick," he said.

There was no need to say more. Sara, Grissom, and Catherine all nodded knowingly. Grissom motioned for him to come in and Warrick did, closing the door behind him.

Sara couldn't help the flash of anger that flared up in her, and she channeled her frustration through a glare. Warrick saw it and nodded apologetically at her, then averted his gaze.

"What did he say?" Catherine sat forward anxiously.

Warrick leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms. "Said he was sorry about missing my calls, and not to worry about what happened."

"And what did happen, Warrick?" Sara asked angrily.

"Sara, please," Grissom said. His tone made her feel like a child who was being scolded. Not the way she ever wanted Grissom to talk to her.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled.

"It's cool," Warrick said, but he shot her a guilty look to let her know that he knew he deserved whatever she had wanted to say.

Sara pursed her lips, accepting but not pleased with his response.

Catherine slapped her palms against her legs. "Guys, we need to come up with a plan, and we need to do it soon, before we lose him."

"I agree," Grissom said, and Sara and Warrick nodded as well.

"What about some kind of intervention?" Sara suggested.

Catherine chewed on her lip. "I don't know," she said. "Don't you think that might be too confrontational?"

Warrick shrugged. "I think it's obvious the confrontation route hasn't been working for us."

Sara turned to face him. "I agree. But maybe it's what we need to do to get a reaction out of him." _Maybe he'll hit you back,_ Sara couldn't keep herself from thinking.

Catherine turned to Grissom. "What do you think?"

He took a long moment to way his options. Grissom was not one to come to a decision, or even a seemingly easy answer, lightly or quickly.

"What have we got to lose?" he asked finally.

He meant well, but it was the wrong question. They all knew what they had to lose, and it was something that none of them even wanted to think about.

"Everything," Sara whispered.

* * *

Nick's hand started shaking again, and he quickly tucked it under his leg, just in case anyone happened upon him. He didn't want to risk anyone seeing something so stupid, not after resolving to stop making everyone worry, but he couldn't seem to win against the little things like this.

He stared down at the table, where three-fourths of a turkey sandwich stared back at him. Despite what he had said in Grissom's office, he had nearly no appetite. He hadn't for days. That could probably account for at least part of the shakiness.

They were suspicious, but he'd expected them to be. He had been so unlike himself lately, of course it was going to be difficult to just accept a smiling, carefree Nick again. He just wanted them to just go on like usual, wanted everyone to sit back and be quiet. He'd thought before it wasn't what he wanted, but it turned out that it was, in a bad way.

Nick didn't want the concern. He didn't want the attention. He just wanted to do his job and get through each day. But it seemed he wasn't going to get what he wanted today.

He turned at the synchronized sound of several determined sets of footsteps coming towards the room. He could feel his heartbeat pick up speed as Grissom and Catherine stepped into the room, closely followed by Warrick and Sara.

_Oh, God._

* * *

To be continued...


	12. Chapter 12

_Chapter Twelve_

Greg felt as though he was out of the loop on something, and had been for a while. Every soul in the lab was quiet, and many were shooting nervous glances at one another and looking at the door to the break room, which was shut.

He frowned. That door was never shut.

The halls weren't just quiet. They were eerily silent. Something was going down. Greg spotted Archie peeking out of the A/V room and redirected his course, headed towards him. Archie saw him approaching and motioned conspiratorially for Greg to come in.

"What's going on around here?" Greg asked.

Archie shot another glance out of the room and wheeled his chair over a counter. "You don't know? How do I know, and you don't?"

"Know what?"

Archie shrugged, like it should have been obvious. "About Nick."

It _was_ obvious. Greg rolled his eyes. "Come on, everyone knows what's been going on with him. He's not that great an actor."

Archie frowned. "Yeah, that's why they went in there."

_What? Who? _"What are you talking about?"

Archie sighed. "The whole shift…well, _almost_ the whole shift…"

Greg frowned.

"They're in the break room with him. Some kind of intervention, I think."

Greg was hurt. His coworkers, his _friends,_ had felt that Nick had needed something so serious and hadn't talked to him about it, or asked him to be a part of it. He was also surprised. "So how did you know, and I didn't?" he asked the A/V tech.

Archie smiled and spun in his chair. "You know things don't stay hidden very long in this lab, Greg. We're CSI techs. We know how to find things out when we really want to."

Greg rolled his eyes again and leaned out the doorway, staring at the closed door to the break room. He wished they would have come to him with this idea of theirs, because he would have tried to talk them out of it.

More than any of them, despite their good intentions, Greg could understand the pain Nick was going through. He would have tried to explain that something like this wasn't going to get the desired results. He couldn't imagine the extreme extent of what Nick was feeling, but he had a pretty good idea. There were lingering, occasional flashbacks or nightmares of his own little brush with danger, the explosion in the DNA lab. If he had shut himself in, there was no way being cornered by the people he trusted would have opened him back up.

Greg bit his lip. He hoped they knew what they were doing.

* * *

Sara bit her lip. She hoped they knew what they were doing.

Nick was obviously taken by surprise when they entered the room the way they did, as a group. The last one in, Sara pulled the door closed behind her.

"Hey, guys," Nick said, somewhat shakily, and turned awkwardly in his chair, unable to escape them when they came at him like this. "What's up?"

They'd talked about how this was going to work, about how they were going to approach him. If the four of them stood in a line, all together, Nick would feel as though they were against him. If they spread out too far, he would feel like they were surrounding him.

Grissom stood by the door, his hands casually in his pockets, trying not to come off as threatening. Warrick attempted the same by perching on an arm of the couch, a safe distance away. Catherine and Sara both pulled out chairs and sat at the table with Nick; Catherine across from him, and Sara beside him. Close, but not too close.

Nick looked around at all of them in turn, and Sara could see how nervous he was, though he tried to downplay it. He swallowed and winced.

However hard he tried, he was clearly unnerved by their silence. "Seriously, what's up?"

Sara reached for his hand, which was resting on the table top, but as soon as her fingers touched his, he flinched and drew it back. He shot her an apologetic look, but she could tell he was already starting to freak out.

"We want you to understand, Nick," Grissom said, and Sara marveled at how steady his voice was. "We're just here to help you."

"Help me with what?" Nick asked with a smile that was so close to, but not exactly like, the ones that he used to throw around.

"With _that_, man," Warrick said.

Grissom shot him a warning look, and Nick followed it like a tennis ball.

"W – what is this?" He looked around between them all. "Some kind of intervention?"

They each averted their eyes, gazing into opposite corners of the suddenly too small room. This was going to be harder than they'd thought.

Nick gave a small, nervous laugh. "You guys think I need an intervention?"

"Don't _you_?" Catherine asked, leaning forward. "You've got to know that you need some kind of help, Nicky."

"No," Nick said, shaking his head. "Not really."

"You don't have to talk to us if you don't want – "

"I _don't_ want," Nick interrupted.

" – but we've set up an appointment for you," Grissom finished.

"What kind of appointment?"

Sara could swear that she had never heard his accent so thick, not even when she first met him, what, five years earlier. "With a therapist," she said, as gently as she could.

Nick gaped at her accusingly, like he'd been betrayed. Maybe he had been. This had all started because of her. "What gives you the right to do that?" he asked.

"The fact that we care about you," Warrick said.

Nick laughed darkly, defenses rising. "Did you care about me when you did this?" he asked, gesturing to his cheek.

Warrick clenched his jaw. "Of course I did. I wouldn't have reacted so strongly if I didn't. You're like my brother, man. You know that."

Nick shook his head. "I don't know anything."

Warrick sat back, a hurt look in his bright green eyes. Sara grew worried when she saw a little anger sprouting there, too. These two were going to get into it again if someone didn't do something, and fast.

"That's not fair, Nick," Catherine, the voice of peace, said quickly, shooting a look sideways at Warrick. "You know we all care about you."

"Then let me deal with things the way I deal with things," Nick said, his eyes wide and imploring, his breathing starting to pick up.

"But you're not dealing with things, "Warrick said. "That's what you told Gris, right?"

Nick's head shot up in Grissom's direction. "You told them what I said." It wasn't a question. His eyes fell, and Sara could see the start of angry, desperate tears.

Grissom stood straight, a stoic expression on his face. Sara mentally pleaded with him to say something, before Nick or someone else said something they would all regret.

"So, what?" Nick spat out angrily. "You get me to say whatever you want and then go off and talk about it behind my back?"

"It wasn't like that, Nick," Grissom said.

"How am I supposed to trust you?" Nick looked around at them. "Any of you?"

"Because it's _us_, man," Warrick said.

Nick snorted, and shakily stood.

Sara frowned, noticing he needed both arms to brace himself against the tabletop. She studied his pale face, which seemed to be draining of more color as the seconds ticked by.

"Warrick," she started. She was going to tell him to cool off a bit, but he didn't seem to hear her. No one did.

"How could you think we were just going to let you go through this on your own?"

"I've _been_ on my own," Nick said, his voice rising, his color fading. "Where have you been before this week?"

"Nicky, we were all right here," Catherine said, in that soothing, motherly tone that she often used to calm one of them or talk them down.

"Yeah, you weren't exactly open to letting us help you," Warrick said. He seemed to have realized he was antagonizing Nick, and toned it down quite a bit.

Nick, however, did not notice. "Because I didn't need any help! I was getting along just fine. Don't you think I'm smart enough to know when I need help?"

Sweat dotted his forehead, and Sara was getting worried.

Grissom continued to stand quietly by the door. He always waited for the opportune moment to leap into a conversation, and Sara hoped that moment would arise soon.

"Obviously not." Warrick wasn't taking too well to Nick's rising voice, and his own started to rise again.

Catherine turned to him. "Warrick, I know you're concerned, but we agreed not to do it like this."

Nick gave another uneasy laugh. "So you guys _do_ talk about me, huh?"

Catherine sighed. "We're not here to make you mad, Nick. We just want – "

"To help me," Nick cut in sarcastically. "I get it."

"No, Nick," Grissom finally said. "You don't."

"I'm not…a child," Nick said. His voice was growing hoarse, his arms shaking as though they couldn't support his weight.

Sara cast an uneasy glance as Catherine, who was also watching Nick closely.

"Nick, honey, you need to sit down," Catherine said gently, goals and tactics changing in the blink of an eye. Her voice did not betray the alarm in her eyes.

"I'm…fine." Nick was breathing heavily, and started to sway, and Sara grabbed hold of his arm to steady him.

Grissom took a step forward as Warrick rose slowly from the couch. They both looked as concerned as Sara felt.

"Nick?" she asked tentatively.

He shook his head, his eyes wide and fearful. Sara grew instantly alarmed at how they started to glaze over.

"No," he said, so quietly it was safe to assume that he was talking to himself. He took a step back, or tried to, anyway. As soon as his hands came away from the table, it was like his anchor had been taken away.

Sara, being the closest to him, jumped up to try and catch him as his eyes rolled back and he crumpled to the floor.

* * *

To be continued...


	13. Chapter 13

_Chapter Thirteen_

Sara's slim frame was no match for Nick's stockier, muscular one, and Warrick knew the second he started to fall that he was going down hard and he'd take her with him.

Warrick rushed to his friend's side and checked for the normal vitals. "What's goin' on here, Gris?" he asked, panicking.

Grissom knelt down across for him and shook his head, also reaching to check Nick's pulse. "I don't know, Warrick. It could be a number of things. Stress, most likely."

Sara stood back, shaking her head. "I knew it," she said softly. She glared daggers at them. "I knew it." There were tears in her eyes.

Catherine stood behind Grissom with her hand over her mouth. She didn't say anything, just kept looking back and forth between Warrick and Grissom, as if this was their fault. Maybe it was.

"Come on, Nicky," she finally breathed.

"He's okay, Catherine," Grissom said over his shoulder.

Warrick's head snapped up and he stared wide-eyed at his boss.

"How can you say that?" Sara practically yelled, vocalizing everything Warrick was feeling, himself. She ran her hands through her hair and started shaking her head again. "We shouldn't have done this," she whispered.

"It's too late for that now, Sara," Grissom said, and Warrick wondered how he could sound so calm when Nick had just collapsed in front of them.

He had deteriorated so rapidly, had gone from appearing nearly fine to being pale and shaking within a span of minutes. Because of them.

Warrick cursed himself. He was sure things would not have gotten this far if he'd kept in together better in the locker room. He had known before then that Nick had needed help, but that confrontation seemed to have really done it for his friend.

Warrick bit his lip and put his hand under Nick's head. Sure enough, he could already feel a small bump.

"Shit," he said under his breath. They had probably added a concussion to Nick's extensive list of problems. "I'm sorry, Nicky."

"Should we get somebody?" Catherine started for the door, chewing on her thumbnail. "An ambulance?"

Grissom shook his head. "No, I think he's okay."

Three disbelieving pairs of eyes stared at him.

"Not _okay, _okay," he admitted. "But I don't think that he needs an ambulance."

"Now you know what he needs?" Sara asked with a laugh. "You're the one who said he needed _this_. That he needed us to help him."

"Sara, please." Grissom put a hand on Nick's forehead, carefully wiping away some of the excessive amount of sweat that was there.

Catherine reached for the phone on the table. "I'm calling an ambulance."

Suddenly, Nick groaned on the ground, and Catherine dropped the phone as they all swarmed to his side.

* * *

The first thing Nick noticed was a frightening feeling that he couldn't breathe. He opened his eyes and gasped for air at the same time. Black spots distorted his vision. He struggled to sit up, but a strong, steady hand guided him back down.

"Nicky, calm down, okay?"

He couldn't put the worried voice with the name of its speaker, but it was a familiar one. It had to belong to one of the blurry shapes hovering above him. Just like in his nightmare…

_No, _Nick thought, _don't just stand there! Get me out of here!_

There was the light. Flashing, just like in his nightmare. Not as bright as the one he remembered, though. Kind of greenish. Nick moved his head around, trying to get an idea of where he was. Table legs? Mini-fridge? _Break_ _room_.

This light wasn't the one that had tormented him for the better part of…God, how long…but one of the finicky, flickering florescent overhead beams that illuminated the rooms of the crime lab. Nick was flat on his back, a place he had no intention of staying. Again, he tried to sit up, feeling his heart rate pick up even more speed, feeling his lungs tighten, his throat constrict. Again, he was pushed back. Didn't they understand?

Apparently not, because now more than one of them was keeping a hand on his chest, keeping him from trying to get up.

"Nick, you're going to have to calm down."

A different voice. Calmer. Steadier. Commanding. Grissom. _Gris._

"Gris." His voice was so quiet, he didn't know if they heard him. Grissom was right, though. He did have to calm down.

Nick closed his eyes and focused on slowing his breathing. He didn't know how long it took, but when he opened his eyes again, he could see them huddled around more clearly. Warrick was right next to him, so close he was almost in his face. His eyes were wide and afraid.

Sara was right over Warrick's shoulder. Nick couldn't see the details in her features, but the sniffing told him all he needed to know. Catherine was opposite Sara, her arm was extended towards him, and her hand disappeared from his field of vision. Hers must have been one of those restraining him. The other belonged to Grissom, kneeling in front of Catherine. His face was not as stony as it usually was. He almost looked concerned, if that was possible.

Nick was momentarily calmed by the sight of them all before it occurred to him just how close they were, and his breathing became labored again.

_Get back, _he thought desperately.

"Do you think you can stand up?"

Nick's eyes went to Warrick. He squeezed them shut and shook his head. His limbs felt like dead weight.

"Okay." Warrick's voice cracked. "We'll help you. Okay, partner?"

Nick sucked in a big breath and nodded. Two pairs of strong hands gripped him under his arms and pulled him upright, and he was instantly aware of a shooting pain in his head. He winced and groaned.

"Nick? Are you okay?" It was one of the women, and they were worried.

"Jus' m'head," he mumbled.

"Try and get your weight on your feet, okay?" Grissom again.

Nick tried. His feet slipped a bit, but he managed a decent enough grip on the floor. It only lasted for a second, though, and then he slumped to the side and leaned heavily against whomever it was that ahold of his right arm.

The person put an arm around Nick's waist and cursed. "Damn, Nicky. When was the last time you ate?" It was Warrick.

The next thing he knew he was lying down again, but on a much softer surface. The couch, probably. He wanted to keep his eyes open, but the small trip across the room had been hell on his head. Not to mention his stomach. He was nauseous, despite the fact that Warrick was right. He hadn't eaten much more than that little bit of sandwich in days. At least he felt like he could breathe again.

Someone gripped his hand. They were talking quietly, and Nick strained to pick up bits of the conversation.

"…call the hospital…"

"…you trippin'…push him over even…"

"...do something, he's a mess…"

"…get some water…"

Nick liked the idea of water, and he croaked out the same. The hand squeezed his limp fingers.

"Okay."

"An' no hospital," he said. He was answered with silence, and knew that was never a good sign.

He knew he had to do something to prove to them that he didn't need a hospital, and pushed himself up into a sitting position, blinking at the roaring in his head. Despite the pounding, the spots slowly dissipated, and things started to get a little clearer.

Nick attempted a small smile and winced. "Can I get some ice or something?"

Three out of the four of them rushed to the fridge. If he was less disorientated, he might have laughed as they stumbled into one another. Grissom remained crouched in front of him, staring at him, observing him.

Nick swallowed and gratefully accepted the ice pack Sara handed him. He held it to the back of his head, and she sank onto the couch next to him, gripping his knee almost painfully.

Warrick stood behind Grissom, his hands on his hips. "You sure you don't want to get that head of yours looked at?"

Nick shook his head, closing his eyes for a moment to mask the wince it caused. "Nah, I'm…" He almost said 'fine.' "Better," he finished.

They looked relieved, leaving Nick to marvel at the power of a simple word.

Grissom wasn't so easily fooled. Never was. He frowned at Nick. "I think we should take you in, just to be safe."

"Gris, it's cool. Really," Nick said desperately. "Doesn't even really hurt."

He realized that focusing on his head was keeping them talking, keeping them out of the inevitable awkward silence. They seemed reluctant to bring up the reason they were all in the room, how they got to be in this moment, and everyone looked around at each other uncomfortably.

Nick was tired. He knew that wasn't a great sign, what with a possible concussion and all, but it was most likely owing to the fact he was getting almost no sleep.

Warrick sighed and looked to his left, and Nick saw him frown as he took in the table, where Nick's uneaten sandwich was. Nick watched Warrick's face as it looked like he remembered something.

Warrick coughed to get the others' attention and raised his eyebrows. Catherine smiled and rubbed Nick's shoulder and headed out of the room.

Sara removed her hand from his leg to squeeze his hand. "I'm so sorry," she whispered, and reluctantly followed Catherine out.

Grissom squinted at him for just a moment longer. Then his features relaxed. "Take the rest of the night off, okay?"

Nick wanted to protest, but the look in Grissom's eyes told him that he didn't have a choice in the matter. He nodded.

After Grissom left, Warrick sighed again. "You've got to take better care of yourself, man." He came across the room and fell back next to Nick. "You hear?"

Nick nodded, willing to do anything to avoid an argument right now. His head hurt, his face hurt, and he was dead tired. He didn't want to try and explain that the sight of most foods made him nauseous. He knew he couldn't live off of water and sandwich halves forever, but he wasn't going to force himself to eat, either.

Warrick shot him a sideways look. "I mean it."

Nick nodded and laid his head back against the couch cushion. He closed his eyes. He had actually almost drifted off when Warrick patted him on the leg. Nick raised his head and looked over at him.

"I'll take you home, okay?"

Nick knew, again, this was a false question. He also knew he wasn't in any condition to drive. He did want to go home. Now that his mind and body were both settling down, he was starting to feel a bit humiliated.

He'd actually passed out. Not only in front of Warrick, Sara, and Catherine, which he thought he could handle, but in front of Grissom. His supervisor was going to think even less of him now. Be even more disappointed.

Nick's shoulders slumped, and he prepared to follow Warrick out of the lab, drawing more stares, more silent questions, more attention that he just didn't want.

* * *

To be continued...


	14. Chapter 14

_Chapter Fourteen_

Greg was leaning against the wall in the hallway, waiting, and glared as Grissom, Catherine and Sara exited the break room. The glare didn't last long.

It had been strong when Grissom came out, because he didn't even spare a glance Greg's way as he went down the hall, face set. Catherine walked out looking at the floor with her fingers locked behind her neck, and Sara was only a couple of steps behind her, wiping her eyes. It was seeing Sara cry that really got to him.

Greg pushed himself off of the wall. "How'd it go?" he asked pointedly, to make sure they knew he was well aware that he had been kept out of the loop on this one.

Catherine shook her head. "Not now, Greg."

Sara excused herself and went off in the direction of the restrooms. Greg watched her leave and turned back to Catherine. "How'd it go?"

"Greg," she said in a warning tone.

He shrugged. "I was just wondering, since I wasn't there to know."

Catherine raised her eyebrows. "It went really badly. That what you wanted to know? You happy?"

Greg instantly wished he could take back the tone in which he'd asked the question, because it was obvious things hadn't gone anything like they'd hoped. Not that he knew what that was, exactly. And not that he still wasn't pissed.

The door opened again, and Warrick and Nick exited. Warrick was shooting that warning look around at anyone that happened to be in the hall, saying without saying, _don't say a word. _Nick just stared at the wall, as if refusing to take the chance of making eye contact with anyone. Greg frowned when he saw the ice pack Nick was holding to the back of his head.

Nick mumbled something to Warrick, who nodded. Nick walked away, and Warrick came towards them. Catherine gave him a wide-eyed questioning look, and Warrick smiled reassuringly.

"He's just getting his jacket."

She nodded. "That just…wasn't what I was expecting."

Warrick shook his head. "Yeah, me neither."

Greg cleared his throat to draw their attention. Warrick and Catherine both had those looks that often intimidated him and made him nervous and got him to back down, but he masked it with a nice little bit of sarcasm. "You guys wanna clue me in on what's going on around here?" he asked with mock pleasantry.

Warrick frowned and jerked his head towards an empty lab room behind him.

Greg made sure he was the first in the room so that he could whirl on the others. "So tell me, how'd your little team intervention go?"

Catherine held up a hand. "Look, Greg, we get that you're pissed, but now is not the time."

"It's just nice to know you guys think of me as part of the team," Greg said sarcastically.

Warrick slammed his hands on the table and Greg jumped.

"Damn it, Greg. This isn't about _you_!"

Greg's eyes widened, and then he hung his head. He'd thought that he had a justifiable reason to be angry with the rest of his team for excluding him, but Warrick was right, and this wasn't about him. It was about Nick. "You're right, Warrick. I'm sorry." Greg looked over at Catherine, too, meeting her eyes. "Sorry, Catherine."

Warrick shook his head, and smiled a bit. "Nah, man. I shouldn't have yelled like that." He ran a hand over his face. "I swear, it was just a spur of the moment thing, and if we'd seen you, you would have been right there with us."

Greg believed him, his anger fading away, replaced by guilt with a side of humiliation. "How'd it go?"

This time, there was nothing but genuine concern behind his words, thinking about what Catherine had said. _"It went really badly."_

Catherine looked away, and Warrick shook his head. "It wasn't good, Greggo."

Greg frowned sympathetically. "Did he feel like he was being attacked?"

"I guess you could put it that way," Warrick sighed. "He passed out."

Greg nearly choked on the air he was breathing. "What?"

Warrick didn't answer him, was looking at the door, where Nick was standing with a less-than-happy expression on his face.

"Ready?" Nick asked in a flat tone.

Greg didn't know why exactly, but he felt guilty. Warrick and Catherine looked it, as well. It seemed they'd been doing something wrong.

"Yeah, man," Warrick said, but Nick was already moving away. Warrick swore under his breath.

"God, he's never going to trust us if he thinks all we do is talk about him," Catherine said.

"Face it, Cath," Warrick said with a somber expression. "It _is_ all we do."

* * *

Nick didn't know how long he sat on his couch before it hit him, that was all he was doing. He looked down at his hand, where he was still clutching the now-crumpled piece of paper Warrick had given to him to in the car. They'd sat in the driveway for a while. Apparently, Warrick thought Nick couldn't even walk into his damned house on his own.

_Something else they probably talked about, _he thought bitterly. He was sick of being their only topic of conversation. He wanted to show them how wrong they were. How strong he was. He knew what he needed to do.

Nick bit his lip and reached for the phone on the side table. Somewhat shakily, he punched in the number on the paper.

_Warrick sighed. "Alright, man. You win. Just give this guy a chance, okay? He knows what he's doing." He shoved a piece of paper into Nick's fist._

"Yeah, hi. I was wondering if…do you have an appointment for Nick Stokes? Yeah, Nicholas. I'm going to have to cancel that appointment. I'm not going to be able to make it that day. Yeah, I'll be sure to call and reschedule when I can fit it in. Okay, thank you. Uh huh. Bye."

As soon as he hung up the phone, Nick found himself having to take a few deep breaths. _What is the matter with you? You can't even talk on the phone now?_ It wasn't the phone, it was the stranger on the other end of the line.

The little nagging voice in his head, which sounded a lot like Gil Grissom, was telling him that he shouldn't have done that, shouldn't have cancelled the appointment. Told he was being stubborn out of spite for feeling cornered and betrayed by the people he was supposed to be able to trust. And maybe it was true. Nick didn't like to entertain the idea that he could be spiteful. He was a think-it-through, rational person. And right now, he rationally thought that he just needed to work through things on his own. Talking to someone about his problems had never helped him before.

Nick yawned and remembered how tired he was. The action caused his head to hurt and he winced. He got up and went to find some aspirin, and then he was going to sleep. Maybe he could get an hour or so in before Warrick called to check up on him, an offer he'd relented to with a forced smile. He hadn't been mad at Warrick before, but the same thing could not be said now.

Not wanting to go all the way into his bedroom, Nick grabbed the blanket off of the back of the couch and curled up under it. Aided by what was possibly a slight concussion, Nick fell asleep instantly for the first time in months. Also for the first time in months, there were no dreams.

However, exactly like every time he had tried to sleep in the last few months, it didn't last long. His visitor must have been knocking for a while, because it was heavy and constant by the time he finally awoke.

"Coming," Nick grumbled, dragging himself up off of the couch. _Who in the hell is this?_

He pulled open the door and gaped at the person on his front step. His surprise mingled instantly with anger. "Hey."

* * *

To be continued...


	15. Chapter 15

_Chapter Fifteen_

As soon as Nick opened the door, Gil knew this visit was not going to go as well as he had hoped.

Nick wasn't standing in his doorway in a way that said to him, 'won't you please come into my home'...it was more like 'I'm holding the door open to humor you, but don't think for a second that I'm happy about it.' "Hey."

It was obviously forced, no attempt at a pleasant tone. Gil swallowed. This was not the kind of thing that he was good at. He would have much rather had Warrick or Catherine make the trip over, but both had strongly refused.

"Sorry, Gris," Warrick had said, shaking his head, "but I'm not gonna be the one to mess him up anymore."

Catherine had been silent until Warrick's comment, which seemed to have given her the courage to speak her mind, as well. "Count me out," she had said. It was all she'd said, and it was enough.

Gil hadn't even entertained the idea of speaking with Greg or Sara about it. Sara was still so upset that she wasn't even speaking with any of them, and Greg had unfortunately been kept out of the loop on things, and Gil assumed any spontaneous involvement on his part now would only work to further frustrate Nick. Plus, there was work in the lab to think of. Only a couple of minor cases, and Gil had split the four of them into teams of two and sent them out, and he had headed over to Nick's.

Gil was an intelligent man, and whether or not they believed it, he cared about each member of his team. He hadn't set Nick up an appointment with just any old psychologist, but an old friend, with whom he had discussed the situation at some length. Gil wasn't surprised by the call.

_"Gil Grissom."_

"Gil, how are you?"

_"We only just spoke a few hours ago, Wyatt."_

"Yes, well, some people appreciate these types of common pleasantries_." There was a constant cheerfulness in his friend's voice. _"I was calling to let you know that you were right."

_This news did not make Gil smile. This was one thing he'd hoped to be wrong about. "When did he call?"_

"Not too long ago, my receptionist just gave me the message."

_Gil rubbed the bridge of his nose. "He cancelled?"_

"Sure did."

_Just as he thought he would._

"Becky says he told her that he would reschedule when he could fit it in."

_Gil sighed. "He won't, Wyatt."_

"That's what you said."

Sometimes, although he would never admit it to anyone, Gil really hated being right.

Nick held the door open, using his arm as a kind of unwelcoming barrier into his house. It was amazing that even with everything that he'd recently been through, he had the energy and determination to appear so strong and, in this instance, angry. His face was tired yet set. His posture slumped yet tall. "Did you need something?"

"Yes, actually. May I come in?"

Nick raised his eyebrows as if to say 'Are you kidding me?' Outwardly, he shrugged. "Sure."

He paused just a moment, and then stepped back to let Gil in. As soon as he entered, Nick shut the door, perhaps a little too roughly, and faced him with arms crossed. "What's up, Grissom?"

Such a small statement, and yet it managed to get Gil right in the heart, something he wasn't expecting. He was never 'Grissom' to Nick, but had forever been 'Gris.' Gil didn't know the absence of such a seemingly insignificant nickname would hit him like this. They really and truly had screwed up. "How's your head?"

Again, Nick shrugged. The international symbol for being unsympathetic, unresponsive, and uninterested. "Popped a couple aspirin. Thinkin' some sleep might help." And there it was. Subtle, but it was there. The accusation.

"Really, Nick. This wasn't our intention." Having not been invited further into the house, or offered to take a seat, Gil stood inside the doorway, shifting uncomfortably.

"And what was your intention?"

Gil took note, not for the first time, just how much thicker Nick's accent got when he was upset or frustrated. He'd barely opened his mouth before Nick continued.

"No, wait, I get it. To _help_ me."

Completely taken aback by Nick's uncharacteristic hostility, Gil frowned. "It's true."

Nick smiled. "Sorry, but I don't need it." With that, he turned to the door and held it open, a gesture to let Gil know that it was time for him to leave.

But Gil Grissom wasn't done yet. "I set up that appointment for a reason, Nick."

Nick frowned. "What are you talking about?" Then he shook his head. He flung the door shut and crossed his arms defensively again. "What, do you have eyes and ears everywhere? Watching me, checking up on me?"

Gil shook his head. "No, Nick. I just know you."

"You don't." He didn't sound so convinced.

"You cancelled the appointment."

"Don't need it."

"And just what is it that you think you do need, Nick?" Gil was getting really annoyed with his constant denial and stubbornness. In Gil's eyes, Nick's thoughts on what he needed were distorted, and he didn't know what was best for himself right now. He didn't know just how far gone he was, and Gil wasn't going to risk losing him completely. Not when he felt responsible.

Nick and Gil were squared off, something that had never really happened before. They'd had their disagreements over cases, sure, and Nick had stood up to him before but something about this felt different. Mostly, because Gil could feel the anger radiating off of the younger man.

Nick was not, by nature, an angry person. But here, he was furious. Gil could only imagine how betrayed he must have felt, and he was sorry for causing those feelings. These were the kinds of things that Gil wanted to articulate, but could never seem to find the words.

Nick glared at him. "I don't need this."

Gil took the hint. Disappointed in both Nick and himself, he moved for the door. He paused on the threshold. "I can't even begin to imagine the things you're going through, but it doesn't have to be this hard."

Nick stared at him, and though something dulled in his eyes, his face remained set.

Gil looked out the open door, into the empty, peaceful street. "We're not going to go away."

Answered with only silence, Grissom stepped out. He was shutting the door when it was stopped.

* * *

Nick caught the shutting door with his hand. He had to look away when Grissom looked up. "Thanks," he said.

It was a good thing that was all he'd planned to say, because he didn't think that he would have been able to get anything else out. The one word itself caught in his throat and he had to swallow hard.

Grissom smiled and nodded, and for a moment, Nick thought that was that. But no, Grissom had to say something. One more little stab, even if the man didn't see his words like that. "Why don't you take a couple of days off and cool down."

Nick had to swallow again. "Yeah, sure. Whatever." And he shut the door.

He found himself leaning heavily against it as soon it shut. He didn't think he'd hit his head that hard, but all that standing and talking and glaring and defying had really taken it out of him.

Nick found himself laughing bitterly. Grissom would never learn. Every time Nick thought he was getting somewhere, Grissom said something that just pushed him right back down. It hadn't always been like that. Gil Grissom's words used to inspire Nick to do better, but somewhere along the line, they stopped being pick-ups and started being put-downs. Like this. No one was harder on Nick than himself, but it sure felt like Grissom tried.

In a better state of mind, Nick would have taken Grissom's words the way that he'd probably intended them. As a simple show of concern, the only way the man knew how, offering Nick a couple of days to collect himself, and not return so quickly to the stares and questions of the lab. Even though these were never the words that Grissom would use.

Since the words he actually said were so vague, and Nick was so down already, he took the words a different way. He heard disappointment, a reluctance to let him work, as though he couldn't handle it. Maybe Grissom was right. He did need to cool down. He was always wound so tight, and so stressed. He really didn't want to take the time off of work, but maybe if Grissom thought it was best…

Nick was too exhausted to notice his train of thought leading him right back to what he was trying to get away from. He leaned his head back against the back of the couch and closed his eyes. He hadn't truly fallen asleep when his home phone started ringing.

He reached for the phone, fumbling a bit. "Hello."

_"Hey, man. How you doin'?"_

Nick stretched and popped his neck. "Good, I guess."

_"You get any rest?"_

"A little. Gris came by."

Warrick's silence told Nick that he already knew.

Too tired to really care, Nick sighed. "I'm not gonna yell at you, 'Rick."

Warrick laughed nervously on the line.

"No, really, I'm not. Think I'm just gonna try and sleep." Nick pulled the blanket onto his lap.

_"All right. Call me if you need anything."_

"I will." _Not. _Nick hung up and tossed the phone over onto the table, and practically fell over on the couch. Once again, his bedroom just seemed too far.

He thought that he was going to fall asleep right away again, but this was not the case. One thought kept popping into his head.

Maybe they were right.

* * *

To be continued...


	16. Chapter 16

_Chapter Sixteen_

Nick had every intention of taking the couple of days off Grissom had suggested. If not to use the time to clear his head and try to start to thinking more clearly, which would really have been more of a side effect than a specific goal, then to give those in the lab time to cool down, for the gossiping masses to disperse.

Warrick called a few more times that night, and every conversation, ten minutes at the most, was the same. Warrick would inquire as to how he was feeling, to which Nick would reply in the positive, and then some minor attempt at small talk would be made. Surprisingly, it wasn't always Warrick, either. A couple of times, Nick found himself reluctant to end the conversation, and he would ask how things were going in the lab, or if Warrick had gotten a chance to sneak a glance at the basketball game that was on. It was a small sign that he was on the road to forgiving his friend. Nick was kind of surprised it wasn't taking longer, but his subconscious must have finally gotten fed up with pushing people away.

One thing they had yet to talk about was the punch thrown in the locker room. Besides the brief mention that Nick had angrily made during their failed intervention, no one had talked specifics with him about it. Perhaps to keep some semblance of peace among themselves, or maybe they were just afraid what would happen if Ecklie found out.

Every time he hung up the phone, Nick found himself sitting with a heavy feeling in his gut. He could hear all of the things his friends had told him, and while he wanted to remain angry with them, it was getting harder and harder. For the first time he was getting from them a sense of genuine concern for his well-being, rather than disappointment that he wasn't over 'it' already, or pressure to get over 'it' soon, so that they could resume their day-to-day routines without the interference.

This small change in mood provided Nick with enough supporting evidence to entertain the idea that he was going to get better of his own accord. All he had to do was think about things a little more carefully, and stop being such a jackass, and everything would slowly start to fall back into place. He was horribly wrong, but at the time, it seemed like a good plan. Better than calling that therapist back.

Nick chewed his lip and stared at the small, folded piece of paper that still rested on the end table. He _could_ call. He _could _make an appointment. He drummed his fingers on the armrest of the couch. It was odd to feel so nervous in the familiarity of his own home. It was the thought of that call, and all it entailed; that did it.

Nick snatched up the paper and wadded it up. He didn't throw it away, but it was enough of a symbolic gesture to mean the same as if he had. He was a little surprised at himself for doing it. Grissom had taken the time, shown enough concern, to make the initial appointment for him. However, as soon as his thoughts drifted to Grissom, a small fire of anger sparked back inside of Nick, and he tossed the wad of paper across the room to land unseen behind an armchair.

He was a lot of things, but he was not going to be Grissom's pawn.

Despite the two, or six, aspirin he'd had taken earlier, Nick's head was still pounding considerably. He still hadn't been able to get any sleep in, between his constant thoughts and Warrick's untimely calls.

Nick made the decision to get a little bit of sleep, and then he was definitely going into work the next night. He really was feeling a bit better about the whole situation. He wasn't exactly in any rush to be talked about some more, but maybe he could walk into the lab tomorrow night in the same mood he had today, and it wouldn't be an act.

* * *

Warrick and Sara wrapped up the interview and headed back to the lab in silence. Of the two cases he had, Grissom had given them the kidnapped child. The parents were at the station, and were completely distraught. An upset parent was hell on the nerves. Two was just hell.

Warrick checked the time on the dashboard, and reached for his cell phone. Sara rolled her eyes.

"What?" he asked, punching in the same number he'd been calling all night.

"Let him sleep," she answered. "We've got a lot of work to do, and you're not going to get it done worrying."

In all honesty, Sara was worrying a whole hell of a lot more than Warrick was, but she didn't want to admit it. She'd been a mess back at the lab, but they were in the field now, and it was time to try and put all the personal things aside and focus on the case.

Warrick sighed and held onto his phone. "I wanna make sure he's not playing us again."

"You're not going to be able to tell that over the phone," Sara gently reasoned with him.

Warrick nodded. "You're right. I know, you're right. I just don't like that he's sitting home alone after all of this."

Sara looked out the window and watched the nighttime scenery roll past. "I know. But you know that he needs some space."

Warrick looked sharply at her.

"Not a whole lot of space," she quickly added. "We're not going to abandon him or anything. But we can't crowd him so much. He's going to think we're pushing him."

"I don't want him to think that."

"I know you don't, and I don't either." Sara resumed staring out of the window.

The concrete facade of the crime lab came up quickly, almost too quickly. She liked being in the truck with Warrick better than the idea of being in the lab. Despite their numerous efforts, people just couldn't seem to stop talking about how screwed up Graveyard was. Sara had already put to rest a rumor that she was moving back to San Francisco.

Warrick parked and they headed in, and again, they were silent.

Greg and Catherine were on their way out, and they all acknowledged each other with smiles and nods. Any kind of group discussion seemed...wrong.

"I'm gonna check on the prints," Sara mumbled.

Warrick nodded, and she broke off down a hallway.

That left a few impressions from a bike tire for Warrick. Which meant Hodges. Warrick sighed and jerked his head in greeting to the obnoxious tech.

Hodges raised his eyebrows. "Warrick."

He propped his elbows up on the table, interlaced his fingers and rested his chin on top of them. "So, I heard something about Ecklie splitting you guys up again?"

Warrick's eyes narrowed. This was one claim that might actually have some sort of validity to it, especially if the director had gotten wind of the locker room mishap.

"Where'd you hear that?"

"No one, actually. It's just funny to see you guys freak out." He shook his head, laughing. "It's so easy."

Warrick bit back a colorful retort, and instead focused on the case. Sara was right. "Do you have anything for me?"

He listened to Hodges ramble on for a bit, and he really did listen. The guy could be a prick, but he was a prick who knew what he was doing.

* * *

Nick thought a night away from the lab, and a good day's sleep, would calm his nerves, and give those in the lab time to just get past it. While he _was_ less angry, he was still tense as he ever was. The same went for the atmosphere in the crime lab. The next night, there was no less tension in the halls. There were no less whispers.

Nick swallowed and smiled at everyone he passed, the yellowing bruise on his cheek drawing many unwanted stares. He walked into the conference room, finding it empty. He'd hoped for this, and left early to make sure he would be the first one to arrive. At least this way, he wouldn't risk walking in on the others to hear them talking about him. He figured that cutting out these possibilities would help his mood, help him stifle his gut reaction to be angry with them.

He chose a seat, and waited.

* * *

To be continued...


	17. Chapter 17

_Chapter Seventeen_

"Well, what did Hodges tell you about the bike treads?" Gil spoke into his cell phone as he gathered a few papers from his desk. He sighed. "Sara, there has to be _some_ kind of evidence at the house. Someone _did_ enter and kidnap the youngest son." Gil had to smile at Sara's fiery and sarcastic retort. "No, I'm sure Warrick didn't look _there_."

He picked up the papers and headed down the hall for the conference room. He would be briefing only a small portion of the regular team, as Sara was already at the house where the kidnapping took place, and Nick was home resting. "Well, Sara, I don't know what to tell you. I'll send Warrick over in just a few. Yes, you can have Greg, too. All right. Bye."

Gil pushed open the door without looking up, and started reading form his assignment slips. "Okay, Warrick and Greg, you guys are going back over to the Overton house. Sara's already there. Catherine, we have male D.B. over in Meadow Park."

"What about me?"

Gil's ears perked up at the one voice he hadn't anticipated on hearing, and he fixed Nick's grinning face with a surprised, albeit authoritative, look. "I thought you were home resting."

Nick shrugged. "I rested. And then I felt like working."

Gil's eyes lingered on Nick for a moment before panning over the others in the room. Warrick shrugged, Greg raised his eyebrows, and Catherine held up her hands.

"It's fine with me," she said.

Of course it was. Catherine didn't want to be at odds with Nick any longer. Here they were, setting up a united front. But not against Nick, against Gil. He frowned. He wasn't the bad guy. There _wasn't_ a bad guy, just a bad situation.

Gil sighed, resigned. "All right. You can come with me and – "

Catherine cleared her throat. " – go with Warrick to the Overton house," she finished, barely missing a beat. "Greg, you can work with me and Grissom."

Gil frowned at Catherine, but she ignored it. He didn't really care if she mixed up the teams, but he liked to be consulted.

"Let's roll," Warrick said to Nick. He made a move as if to punch him in the arm, something that he often did, but instead let his arm fall to his side. If Nick noticed, he played it off very well.

The two guys left and Gil stared at Catherine. "Greg, could you excuse us for a moment?"

Greg sat up in his chair. "Sure."

"Just wait in my office."

Greg nodded and left the room as well.

Once he was gone, Gil raised his eyebrows at his co-supervisor. "So, what did you do that for?"

Catherine smiled and shook her head. "It's a good thing you're not a parent, because you would be so clueless."

"What does that mean?"

Catherine sighed. "Oh, Gil. Haven't you learned anything?"

She stood and walked around the table, sitting on the edge so they were facing each other. "You can't tell him that he can stay and work and then put him on a case with you. That's sending mixed messages. It's saying that you accept he's capable of the work, but not so much that you trust him out of your reach…you understand?"

Truth be told, Gil felt that Catherine's tone was a little patronizing, but she did make a good point. "I guess you're right."

She smiled. "Yeah. I am." She hopped down from the table. "Now let's get out to that D.B."

* * *

After Sara hung up with Grissom, she tossed her phone onto the passenger seat of the SUV. She was incredibly frustrated. She'd been working the case nearly all day, and she was getting worried. She knew the first twenty-four hours were the most important in finding a missing person. After that, all bets were off.

Sara walked around to the back of the house and stared once again at the back door. There were no obvious signs of forced entry, but there were a couple of impressions from bike tires that the Overtons had said weren't there yesterday.

Sara put her hands on her hips and sighed. She entered the house and headed for the boy's room, a room she and Warrick had already gone over several times. Her field kit already lay open on the floor, and she stooped to grab a brush and fingerprint powder.

"This," she said to the empty room, "is war."

Sara spent the next half hour dusting every surface of the room, and didn't even notice when the guys arrived at the house.

A low whistle sounded from the doorway, and Sara jumped and spun, flinging powder as she did. She straightened and tried to regain some dignity as Warrick and Nick looked around the room, trying not to smile. They failed miserably.

"I'm thorough," Sara said. She glanced around the room and blushed a bit at the coat of black powder that covered nearly every object in the room.

"Sure," Nick said, and the same Warrick said, "I see."

Sara threw her arms out. "There's absolutely nothing here! Maybe Kyle just ran away."

Nick glanced sideways at her. "Isn't he five?"

Sara crossed her arms defensively. "_I _would have."

"Guys," Warrick said, setting down his kit, "can we be crime scene investigators now?" He glanced around the room. "Okay, Sara, are you getting any prints outta this? Or are you just seeing how much powder one room can hold?"

Nick suppressed a laugh, and Sara glared, although she was smiling. "I got a couple off of the window ledge."

Warrick frowned. "The window ledge? I thought we were looking at an intruder that came from the back door?"

Nick jerked his head. "I'll print the outside of the window."

Warrick nodded. "Yeah, and I'll have a look at the other windows. We'll leave Sara here in the land that vacuums forgot."

Nick grinned and left the room.

Sara waited for Warrick to leave as well, but he lingered a moment, and Sara took the hint. "He seems okay."

Warrick nodded. "Yeah, he does."

"Aren't you happy about that?"

"Of course I am. I'm just always going to wonder if it's genuine, or if something else is really going on with him. He's been playin' with us for a while now." Warrick grabbed his kit off of the ground.

"I have to admit," Sara said, "he _does_ seem better. So maybe our little intervention wasn't such a bad thing."

Warrick nodded again. "If we can get him to that therapist, then I'll call it a success."

He left the room, and Sara turned back to the window, where a few prints popped out at her.

As she used a tape lift to collect the prints, she found herself smiling. She had a feeling that they were going to find Kyle Overton, because they were working together. It was just that it wouldn't hurt to have some evidence to back up her good feeling.

* * *

Nick chewed his lip, studying the window frame in front of him. They'd been goofing around inside, and it felt natural again and he was immensely grateful for that, but it was time to get serious. A little boy's life hung in the balance.

Through the window, he could see Sara still moving around the room. He smiled as she lifted and shook an empty fingerprint powder container, a frustrated look on her face.

Nick knocked lightly on the window with his knuckles. "You want some of mine?"

Sara looked embarrassed for a second, then nodded.

He had extras. Nick grabbed one of the small containers and started to push up the window. It didn't budge. Nick frowned.

"Maybe you need to hit the gym more often," Sara called from inside.

Nick shook his head. "Sara, this window isn't movin.' Is it locked?"

Sara peeked up at the top of the window frame. She shook her head. "Doesn't have one."

Nick's frown deepened as he carefully looked over the window frame. A small spot in the corner drew his eye, and he squinted. It was a small, raised bump, and it had been painted over.

"Sara, I think your theory that he ran away might be gaining some support."

"What?"

Nick pointed, although he knew she couldn't see what he was looking at through the other side of the window. "This window's nailed shut."

Sara's eyes widened. "Hold on."

A moment later, she joined Nick outside. She wore a frown to match his. "Why would they nail his window shut?"

Nick shook his head, and started to say something, when Warrick came around the side of the house.

"Hey, guys, did you know that the windows – "

" – are nailed shut?" Sara finished. "Yeah."

Warrick put his hands on his hips. "How did we miss that?"

Nick grinned. "'Cause you didn't have me with you."

Warrick snorted and pulled out his cell phone. "Yeah," he said, punching in Brass's number. "That must be it."

* * *

To be continued...


	18. Chapter 18

_Chapter Eighteen_

Catherine blew a few bangs out of her eyes and sighed, closing her case folder. The past few days just seemed to have been case after case after case. She was tired and her heels were killing her. She was on her way out of the police station after helping Detective Vartann secure yet another confession to yet another crime, when she came upon Nick in the hall, and her heart sank.

He was sitting in one of the stiff plastic chairs that lined the walls, seemingly oblivious to any motion or noise around him, and being in the police station, there was plenty of both. His shoulders were slumped, his hands dangling between his knees, and he was looking at the floor with vacant eyes, almost unseeing.

Catherine hurried to his side and sat in the empty chair next to him. "Hey, you okay?"

It took him a second to react, and he nearly jumped when he realized that she was there. He smiled. "Yeah. Fine."

"Okay." Catherine wasn't going to push. She started to stand.

Nick grabbed her arm. "Wait." He chuckled softly and looked away, down the hall. "No. I'm not."

Catherine sank back into the chair. She was concerned, but tried not to be obvious about it. They had been doing a really good job of avoiding the subject the past two days. Nick would catch one of them glancing his way and he would give them a reassuring smile or nod, and that was about it. Everyone was afraid of the consequences if they pushed him. Catherine couldn't stop replaying what had happened in the break room.

Things had settled down considerably. Nick had swung right into the new case with Warrick and Sara, and while everyone knew that Nick wasn't doing perfectly, he seemed to be coping much better. Until now.

Nick gave a small motion that was kind of a shrug. "I just keep thinking about that kid."

Catherine frowned. "The one from your case?"

She had definitely been filled in on the details from that one. A presumably kidnapped five-year-old that turned out to be a runaway. It was unbelievable, although it was more so when you considered the circumstances, which were also unbelievable.

The parents had actually locked the child in the house, for God only knows how long. Not only God, actually. The woman next door had an idea that something was different about her neighbors to the left, and the child hadn't really run very far, just across the yard, to her house. She'd come to the police that morning, and while she hadn't really provided a reason for keeping Kyle nearly two days without saying anything, at least one that satisfied the minds of the CSIs, they were happy that it turned out the way it did. The parents, who had been faking their distress over their missing son, were going to be facing numerous charges. Catherine was glad, because these people were obviously deranged. She couldn't imagine ever treating Lindsay like that.

Nick nodded. "Yeah."

"Why?"

Nick shrugged. "I don't know. I just can't get over that fact he ran away."

Catherine laid her hand on his arm. She herself was awestruck to think that a five-year-old had the capacity and will-power to run away from his home. But when she thought about the situation that he was in, shut in by the two people you're supposed to be able to trust more than anyone, she guessed that she could understand a little better. Things like that made you grow up fast.

"He just felt like he had to get away," she said. Whether to comfort or calm him, she didn't know.

Nick gave a small smile. "I guess I can relate."

Catherine was alarmed. "You feel like you need to get away?"

Nick's head snapped up and he immediately shook it. "No, no. I don't know…no." He didn't sound so sure.

Catherine's mind raced, and she desperately wished for it to be someone else sitting here and hearing this, someone who would know what to say. She thought about Nick's words, and it brought out her overprotective mother side, wanting to know what or who would make her Nicky feel this way.

Oh, right…it was them.

"Nick," she started tentatively. "Do you feel like you need to get away from us?"

Again, Nick's head whipped up, his eyes wide.

_Because he's surprised I would even suggest it, or because he's been caught? _Catherine wondered.

He smiled, and Catherine was sure that it was meant again to reassure her, but instead it broke her heart how tight it was. "No," he said, so quiet she barely heard it.

Catherine stared at the wall across from her. It was constantly blocked by a passing officer or other stray person wandering the halls, and Catherine found herself wishing she was among them. "Do you feel like we're shutting you in?" she asked. It was the only thing she could think that he would relate to.

Nick didn't answer, and her heart broke a little bit more.

"I've tried so hard – "

"We've tried so hard," she started to say at the same time Nick also spoke.

Catherine laughed lightly and turned to face him. He again looked down at the floor. "Maybe we're all just making this too hard on ourselves, you know?" she asked.

Nick raised his eyebrows in acknowledgement. "Yeah, I do." He sighed and leaned back in his chair, resting his head against the wall. "I just keep hitting these highs and lows, and I don't understand it."

Catherine glanced around them, not so sure that an overcrowded hall in the police station was the best place for this talk, but at least he was talking. Fortunately, none of the numerous passers-by appeared to be taking any interest in their conversation. "What do you mean?"

Nick gave a small shrug, and remained staring straight ahead. "Some days, I honestly feel like my old self again, like the last couple of days. And then there're others that I just…just…"

Catherine waited for him to finish. Her heart thudded, and she was utterly terrified about what he might say.

He looked over at her, and there were a few tears in his eyes. "I just don't know if it's worth it." A few seconds of eye-to-eye contact was all it seemed that he could take, and he averted his eyes once again.

Catherine had to clear her throat before she could speak. "I know the past few months have to have been hard," she found herself speaking in a rush, "and we're really not trying to contribute to that."

"I know. You're trying to help me." It was the first he'd said that without sounding sarcastic or angry. His voice showed real gratitude for their attempts, however pathetic or ill-fated they may have been.

Despite this, Catherine expected an oncoming 'but.' She waited for some kind of accusation.

"You are."

That took her by surprise. Catherine shook her head. "No, Nicky, I don't think we are."

"No, really." He made another attempt at looking at her, and it held a bit longer this time. His eyes were wide and clear. "Do you think I'd really dealt with anything before you guys started pushing me?"

While Catherine winced at his word choice, she again noted the gratitude his tone was weighted with. He offered her a small smile, much less sad than the last, and it relieved a lot of the tension that she was feeling.

She returned the smile. "Well, we pushed with the best of intentions." She patted his leg. A question popped in her mind, but she was hesitant to ask.

"You know," he swallowed. "I've been thinkin' about seeing that therapist Gris talked about."

It was as though he could read her mind, and Catherine was taken aback by both the fact the he would think about it, and that he would volunteer the information. "T-that's great," she stuttered.

He smiled and nodded. "I sure hope so." He ran his sleeve across his eyes and gave her that crooked, sheepish grin. "You wanna get outta here?"

"Yeah."

"You wanna get something to eat?"

Catherine cocked an eyebrow. "You paying?"

Nick laughed. "Don't push it."

_Oh, Nicky, _she thought as they stood to leave, _I promise._

* * *

To be continued...


	19. Chapter 19

_Chapter Nineteen_

Another two days went by, and everything seemed to be getting better and better. The loud and obnoxious general population of the lab had settled down. People stopped whispering whenever a member of the graveyard shift walked by. They weren't getting strange looks, and the rumors had all either dissipated or been stomped on. Grissom was really good at the latter. He just had that air of authority that shut people up. Even Hodges.

The caseloads seemed to lighten considerably, although that may have been because their minds weren't so heavily weighted with worry and guilt. They were still feeling it, but it had subsided back to the moderate levels they'd been keeping since the summer.

Even the one telltale sign of the week's events, the bruise that Nick was sporting, had almost faded away. All that remained was a dark yellowish smudge that you could really only see in the right lighting or if you knew where to look.

Warrick knew where to look, and it panged him hard every time that he did. They still hadn't talked about it. If the reason was that it was something Nick needed to avoid to keep getting better, Warrick would have gladly accepted that. But that wasn't the reason, and he knew it.

"_Just say it, 'Rick," Nick croaked out, as though he hadn't spoken in weeks. His voice did not sound at all like his own. _

"_Say what?"_

"_That I had it coming."_

Warrick couldn't let Nick continue to think that. He had a gut feeling the reason Nick hadn't yelled at him about it or tried to hit him back was because somewhere in his emotionally beaten-down psyche…Nick felt that he'd deserved it. He didn't understand what kind of reasoning his friend could be using to make him think he deserved to be hit, but it wasn't right.

Warrick glanced at his watch. It was officially the end of shift, and he was actually getting out of the lab on time. Not without talking to Nick first, he was resolved to that, and nothing was going to shake it. He didn't have to look long. He could hear the laughter of his two friends coming from the break room.

Laughter was definitely a good sign in Warrick's eyes.

"You're kidding me, right? Pittsburgh doesn't have a chance."

"We'll see," Greg answered defiantly, but had to smile. It was great to have things seeming so perfectly mundane. So dull. He loved it. It meant that he could command everyone's attention, the way things were meant to be.

Nick laughed. "Dream on, man. It ain't gonna happen."

Greg shrugged. "I like to root for the underdog."

Nick rolled his eyes. "Yeah, see how far that gets you."

Greg glanced through the window and spotted Warrick coming down the hall. He seemed hesitant to enter the room, and Greg felt a sudden responsibility to halt the inevitable awkwardness that was already seeping into the room. Feeling pretty brave, he jerked his head in Warrick's direction, drawing Nick's attention to him. "What about you and Warrick?"

There was a brief pause which was just long enough for Greg to regret his very existence and the urge he'd once again felt to open his mouth and make a possible bad situation even worse…when Nick grinned. "I could take him."

Warrick looked taken aback, and a little worried at Nick's statement, but then he saw his friend's smirk and rolled his eyes. "Yeah, to lunch maybe." He came into the room and stood with his arms crossed.

Nick stood. "You want a piece of me?" he asked with a smile.

Warrick snorted. "All five feet of you?"

"Oh, that's cold, bro."

Greg grinned as his two friends had a mock stand-off. They traded insults for a few moments, several causing Greg to laugh out loud. Then, just as suddenly, it stopped, and Greg's smile faded as he realized that he had really done nothing more than to delay the serious conversation the guys obviously needed to have.

He tried to stand and stretch as casually as he could, but it came off kind of dumb. Especially when his foot caught on the rug and he nearly fell.

"I'll just…catch you guys later," Greg said, feeling his face flush.

Nick and Warrick both merely nodded, and Greg hurried out of the room. A part of him wanted to stay just outside the door and listen, but he forced it aside and walked towards the door, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

It felt to Warrick that they were sizing each other up, and that was not the way to start this conversation. He was a couple of inches taller than Nick, and didn't want to talk to him as though he was looking down on him, which he literally would be. He took a couple of steps back and rested against the edge of the table. "How are you doin'?"

Nick shrugged and looked away, and Warrick knew right away he was going on the defensive. "Okay. Same as when you asked me two hours ago."

Warrick sighed. "Okay. How are doing with the whole…" He still couldn't form the words. He swallowed. "I mean, how do you feel about…" He sighed again and stared at his hands. "I really am sorry, man."

Nick shook his head, his face serious. "Don't be. I needed it."

Warrick shook his own head fiercely. "No, that's crazy. I had no right to do anything like that."

Nick still did nothing more than shrug it off. "Call it a wake-up call."

Warrick gaped at him. "You're serious?"

"Yeah."

"You're not pissed."

"Nah." Nick smiled. "I've had worse."

Warrick shifted his legs and braced his hands on the table. "Nick, you can say whatever you want to try and make me feel better about this, but it's not gonna happen. I shouldn't have done that, I just overreacted."

Nick looked thoughtful. "I know. But I think it was really good that you did. Kinda started a cause-effect chain. I got a lot off of my mind."

It looked to Warrick that there was still a lot on his mind, but he was definitely not going to be pushy anymore. He knew in his gut that things were going to get better, and for now, he was just going to have to trust it. He didn't want to antagonize his friend ever again.

The moment was stretching into another long, uncomfortable pause, and Warrick, feeling a lot like Greg, had the sudden need to lead the conversation back to a lighter place. "There's no way you could take me."

Nick laughed. Warrick smiled, it was really good to hear him laugh.

* * *

It was late morning. Shift ended as smoothly as a spring breeze, and everyone breezed out at a decent time. Unfortunately for Sara, that meant no overtime, or so Greg had teased.

Seemingly immune to the warm sunshine streaming in through the open windows of his living room, Nick wandered aimlessly around his small house. He didn't know exactly what he was looking for, but he was sure that he would know when he found it.

He moved about the house on autopilot, though he wasn't sure where his feet were taking him. Too engrossed in his thoughts to focus on anything, his eyes scanned book and movie titles; the contents of his cabinets and refrigerator; the clothing hanging in his closet; the random items carelessly thrown into the hall closet, his one lapse into untidiness.

Nick felt guilty. Not about the conversation with Warrick, because he was finding it was actually pretty easy to be open and honest with him. It was something else. He hadn't exactly been telling the truth when he talked to Catherine. Not all of it, anyways. He had _thought_ about seeing that therapist. That was something. He never told her that he was definitely going to see him, just that he'd been thinking about it. So he hadn't _really_ lied…

He was letting himself off the hook on a technicality, and he knew it. He'd taken advantage of the fact that he knew Catherine's concern would outweigh her common sense and she fully believed what he was telling her. They'd gone full circle. At least some things had gotten out in the open, and they weren't _really_ back where they had started.

Not _really._

Not _technically._

Not if it was going to help him sleep at night.

People knew things now. Some would forget. Actually, it wasn't so much forgetting as it was that…it just got pushed to the backs of their minds when other new things required the space. This relocation didn't make the knowledge or concern any less important or strong, but it tended to get in the way of properly functioning. Especially with their jobs. Nick wouldn't hold it against them.

It wasn't the rest of them that had Nick thinking, anyway.

Grissom knew. And Grissom would always know. There was just no getting anything past that man. The others trusted that about him. They trusted that he would know and do what was best. They trusted what he told them. They trusted what he didn't. Silence could be just as much of an answer as words could.

So, Grissom knew that he wasn't doing as well as he maybe should be. But, Grissom would know when he was. And when that happened, everyone would see it in him, and they would trust it, and everything would be okay again.

Everything would be okay again.

For now, Nick wandered around his house. He didn't know what he was looking for, but he was sure that he would know when he found it.

* * *

The End


End file.
